


The Book of Days and the Book of Nights

by appleapple



Series: Works of the North [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, M/M, Magic, Modern Fantasy, Mystery, Survey Corp, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2018-09-24 06:12:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9706850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleapple/pseuds/appleapple
Summary: Eren's temporary apprenticeship has become more than he ever could have imagined; now he works alongside Levi to keep the North safe and protect the rest of the world from monsters and malevolents.  Though his life isn't easy he's never been happier.But the world is changing...and even all of Eren's skill and training may not be enough to keep it safe.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> _Just a little amuse-bouche to start us off_

 

 

 

 

Levi came down the stairs a little absent-minded that morning, fingering the buttons on the cuffs of his black jacket. A thread had come loose, and he was trying to decide if it was worth repairing now; it would only take five minutes, but it meant hauling out the sewing kit and it would probably be fine until the end of the day…

The kitchen was cold and empty, and he stared at the bare table for a long moment before comprehending its significance. 

“What the hell?” he said out loud, more disbelieving than outraged. Never, in all his time as Gatekeeper had such a thing occurred. “Coatrack!”

There was no reply. Levi made a frustrated noise and threw the back door open; oddly, no cold wind blew in. The air outside was _still_. He frowned. Automatically his hands went to the swords at his hips, the now-visible maneuver gear. But no...his right hand went to the opposite wrist, touched the wristwatch there. Its tick was reassuringly loud in the silence.

Outside the only sound was his boots crunching through the snow. No wind. No birds. Halfway down the road to the farm he found the coatrack. 

It was deep golden in color, made of polished ash. When he had first come to the North he'd been overwhelmed by the grandness of everything. Erwin had plucked him from the Underground; with almost no training he'd been thrust into this role. The North had _asked for him_. The stained glass doors, the cold and empty front hall. The coatrack had then stood a silent observer; he'd draped his green cloak--newly minted--over one of its arms.

"You'll need servants to run the place, of course," Erwin had told him on the walk from the train station. "You can't do everything yourself. There are some--er, locals, and eventually you'll be able to form a Squad, but you'll need time to find the right candidates. People suitable for life in the North, and--"

Levi had walked silent at his side, thinking, _He talks as though I've never run an organization of people before. He talks as though my best friends weren't just murdered. The people that would have come here with me..._

He had not brought any servants to the house-- _his_ house now. He did most of the work himself. He felt himself existing uneasily with it; he wondered why he had been chosen. He had found the books about his family in the library. Seeing Grey House, the ancestral Ackerman home--more impressive by far than the Northern Gatehouse--had been a special kind of hell. Nothing so simple as petty jealousy or bitterness; no. This was the life his mother ought to have had, he thought paging through the hand-painted color plates. The life Kenny had from time to time ironically alluded to. The life he had never actually believed in. He put the book aside and walked the length of the library, feeling an unaccustomed melancholy. 

He had been the child of a prostitute, brought up by a killer. A thug. A gangster. An important person in the Underground; a self-made man. Respected for his ruthlessness as much as for his peculiar code of honor. A loyal friend...

And now, last scion of a dying (or was it dead?) once-noble house. Friend to no one he could name. He had spent the last twenty years on the path that Kenny had--unintentionally or not--set him upon. Yet somehow he had ended up here.

"Oh...thank you," he had said, looking up in surprise when someone had tapped him on the shoulder. The coatrack from the front hall--a handsome piece of furniture, solidly built along the elegant lines of another era--had come in with a pot of tea. It poured out the cup for him with a measured grace, while he watched in bemusement. Had he brought it to life without realizing? Had the North sensed his need, as well as his reluctance? Or had the coatrack just been lying dormant until he had awoken it? He still didn't know. But since his first arrival in the North it had served him faithfully.

It was frozen mid-stride, empty basket hanging off its arm at a jaunty angle. Looking up he saw two birds in the air, fixed in place as though he were looking up at a painting. He picked up the coatrack under one arm and turned to carry it back to the house. Then he went to find Eren.

 

 

 

 

Eren woke up to Levi standing over him, stern and grim. "Uh," he said, in a blind panic of _oh-god-what-did-I-do._

“Get up,” he said. “Don’t take your watch off.”

Eren looked down at the watch on his wrist, then back up at Levi in confusion. “Uh,” he said again. “Sorry. I overslept? The coatrack usually comes to wake me up…”

Levi grimaced. “I know. Put these on. Come downstairs when you’re dressed. And bring your skis and a set of maneuver gear.” He dropped some clothes on top of the comforter, and turned and left the room. Eren breathed out. 

“Never a dull moment,” he muttered, shaking out the things Levi had brought him.

Layers of clothes; two pairs of socks, thin wool undergarments, a sweater, a blue and white snowsuit he’d never seen before. He put it all on, but he left the snowsuit unzipped to his waist. He didn’t put the maneuver gear on yet. He had yet to master Levi’s trick of wearing it so that it stayed hidden and out of the way when not in use; it would be too bulky to wear under the heavy winter clothes. He carried it down, along with his skis and boots and swords. One was still the boring standard-issue military sword, but the other was the (maybe) Sol Soldere, which Levi had taught him how to sharpen and polish. It glittered even in the weak winter sunlight, and Eren let himself admire it for a moment before slipping it back in the scabbard. 

They still hadn’t found any reference to it in the annals, so Eren had started calling it ‘Zora’; it meant ‘dawn.’

“Should I wear the maneuver gear?” Eren yelled down from the landing as he dragged his things along behind him. 

“No,” Levi called back from the kitchen. “You won’t need it until the end.”

“Then end of what? Hey--” he’d just stepped into the kitchen, and spotted the coatrack standing still and awkward in the middle of the room. It looked disturbingly unanimated. “What’s wrong with--”

“Yes,” Levi said, broody. He was making sandwiches at the kitchen table. “It’s a good thing you slept with your watch on.”

Eren looked baffled, from the coatrack and back to Levi. “Why? What’s going on now?”

“Time’s frozen,” Levi said. “We’ve got to go and unfreeze it.”


	2. January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished new chapter, courtesy of my snow day (happy dance that I'm not working in the blizzard). Can winter be over though, for real...

They set out--by their watches--an hour later, laden with sandwiches and sleeping bags and extra clothes. The universal time seemed not to have moved at all. The sun was still in the same low position in the sky, and outside it was eerily quiet.

“How did it freeze?” Eren asked; the obvious question. They were sitting on the low wall behind the house, strapping on cross-country skis. Eren fumbled the snaps closed on his boots, unstrapped them, tightened them, and snapped them again. The red plastic was slick under his fingers, and his hands felt cold and clumsy. He stretched out his legs and decided he was satisfied with the fit, then hurriedly put his gloves back on.

“Well, it’s winter,” Levi drawled. 

“Can’t you just _tell me something_ for once?”

“Where does time come from?” Levi asked, and Eren sighed.

“I don’t know. Isn’t it just...everywhere?”

Levi set out, one smooth gliding motion, and Eren zipped along beside him. It was so quiet they didn’t even need to raise their voices to be heard.

“No,” Levi said. “It isn’t. It flows. It ebbs. It has a tide. It’s malleable. It can run faster or slower. You can store it, if you have the right vessel…”

“You’re saying,” Eren said slowly; “It’s like a liquid?”

Levi grunted.

“So there’s like...a river of time somewhere?”

“A waterfall.” Levi glanced over at him. “All time flows outward from there. And it’s frozen.”

“And we’re going to go unfreeze it,” Eren said bleakly.

“Worried?”

“Me? No. The whole world’s frozen because time’s frozen, and we have to fix it somehow? That doesn’t sound hard or terrifying at all.” Long pause, and then: “You’ve, uh. Done this before, right?”

“No,” Levi said.

Eren wiped his face; he was starting to sweat even in the cold air.

“But, I mean, you know how?” he said hopefully.

“I’ve got some ideas,” Levi said.

“Ideas. Well. Ideas are good,” Eren said weakly.

 

 

 

 

The air seemed to be getting thinner somehow. Eren had never been this far North, and he wondered nervously if they had traveled past the edge of the borderlands, into the beyond. There was almost no difference between the snow-covered landscape and the sky; just one endless white horizon, as if they’d accidentally wandered out of a picture book and onto the endpapers.

They’d been traveling for a long time. Levi would stop them every few hours to eat and drink something, but eventually they had to rest. It was still day, or at least there had been no change in the light. 

“I don’t know if I can sleep,” Eren muttered, half to himself when they were lying side by side in the sleeping bags. It felt oddly unnatural. They hadn’t even brought a tent to block out the sun.

“Try,” Levi said, turning over and Eren sighed. He closed his eyes, and rustled around for a while, flopped over on his belly and then onto his back--he tied a handkerchief over his eyes, got up to walk a few yards away, peed in the snow and then came back over to the sleeping bag. Levi’s breath was deep and even and Eren lay back down. He rolled back to his stomach and closed his eyes, and counted Levi’s breaths for a while; then he was asleep.

By and by there was a sound that was the absence of a sound; the two watches had stopped ticking.

Levi and Eren drew in a final breath, the last gasp before the world froze solid.

A man meandered over to where they lay. There were footsteps in the snow behind him, but all the same...had you been there you would have been hard pressed to say how he had gotten there. 

“Hrm,” he said, and a companion--like enough to have been his brother--stood next to him in the snow. “There are two of them now.” The first man scratched his nose. Unhurriedly he picked Levi up and slung him over one shoulder; the other man did the same with Eren. They began to walk back the way they had come although--strangely--sometimes there were two sets of footprints in the snow, and sometimes only one.

 

 

 

 

Levi awoke to the sound of running water. He opened his eyes and sat up abruptly; he was alone, in a kind of greenhouse, lying on a cot. Another empty cot lay beside him, a rumpled blanket draped across it.

“Eren?” he called. He stood up. He had an odd feeling that he had been here before...or that he _would,_ which was worse.

The greenhouse led into a main house, and there was a man--a vague-looking man, vague in every sense of the word--reading a newspaper with a stub of pencil in his hand. He was the kind of man you would never be able to describe afterward; he looked middling tall and middling handsome, ashy-blonde-brown hair and eyes of a nondescript color. He also had the absent look of a man whose mind is always elsewhere; as though he is trying to figure out the square root of negative one, or to remember where he last saw his keys.

Levi had met him before.

Levi sat down at the round white table. The little nook they were in was glassed in on three sides; unsurprisingly there was a different vista in each window. A garden in summer, spring, and fall. The man poured out tea into a cup for Levi without looking up from his newspaper; of course it was exactly the right temperature and had been steeped for exactly the right amount of time. 

“You brought us here,” he said; it was half a question.

“Your watch stopped,” the man said. “That was a clever trick, but once you passed the last outpost of the North it didn’t work anymore.” Finally he looked up from his paper, his maybe-blue-hazel-green-grey eyes startlingly intent. “Some could say I ought not interfere, but after all...Death herself is an admirer of yours, or so I’m told, and you are under the North’s protection. Most importantly, you’ve been a good servant to me, Levi.”

“But there’s nothing you can do, is there?”

“I regret not.”

Levi had drunk all his tea; he stared at the leaves in the bottom for a moment before the man poured him another cup. 

“Where’s Eren?”

“Fishing, I think.”

Levi grunted.

“What do you intend to do?” the man asked curiously, as though he had no personal stake in the outcome of these events.

“There’s a story in Shaw’s book about this happening,” Levi said. “A thousand-odd years ago. I don’t suppose you know how they got it going again the last time?”

The man shrugged. “I wasn’t there,” he said simply, and Levi looked at him hard.

“How could you not have been there?”

“Well,” the man said agreeably, “what do you remember from before you were born? Or when you were asleep last night?”

“Damn it,” Levi sighed. “I was hoping you did know. How are _you_ still operating, then?”

The man shrugged. “This is my demesne,” he said. “As long as there is time flowing _somewhere_ I have authority over my own house...even if it means I can’t leave.”

Levi glanced down at his wrist; his watch was ticking along as faithfully as ever.

“You said it stopped,” he said.

“Well, it might have had one tick left,” the man said reasonably. He poured out tea for a third time when Levi raised his cup. “You might have paid dearly for that tick, for all I know.”

“It didn’t come cheap,” Levi said darkly.

“Ha! I thought so. The last market?”

Levi nodded. He had made several purchases; that had been back in the summer. None of them had come cheap.

“I don’t suppose you have any advice for me,” he said tiredly.

“Don’t go to sleep again,” the man said. “You’ll have to stay awake until you get there. I won’t be able to help you from here on out. But you know I’m rooting for you, Levi.”

“I would hope so,” Levi said, a little crossly. “It’s your life we’re talking about saving, isn’t it?”

The man shrugged. “What is a life, for someone like me?” he asked rhetorically. “I do have another bit of advice before you go. Your enemy is near.”

“I have plenty of those.”

“No. You know the one I mean.”

Levi went still, and the man nodded. “Your oldest enemy, I think.”

Levi looked up, met the man’s eyes. “He’s more powerful than the last time I met him. I don’t understand how that could be…”

“Levi. Can you be so naive? You give him his power. He is only strong because you allow him to be.”

 

 

 

 

Eren was out by the lake; it was curiously divided into sections; some warm and placid, some bitingly cold to the touch, some frozen. When he had woken up a young man about his own age had been nearby, maundering on about fishing; he had invited Eren along.

He was pretty sure he was dreaming all of this.

The young man--he’d muttered something that sounded like ‘Tim’ when Eren had asked his name--drew back the line and cast it out again in one smooth motion. Suddenly an old man appeared along the shoreline, and Eren blinked at him a few times, wondering where he had come from. There were footprints behind him, but he couldn’t recall seeing the man walk up that way…

“Ugh,” Tim said. “Who let you out of the basement, granddad?”

The old man grinned at them. “Above all things be glad and young!” he cried. “For if you're young, whatever life you wear becomes you; and if you are glad whatever's living will yourself become!”

Tim rolled his eyes and Eren stared at the old man, wondering why he looked so familiar. “Care for an apple?” he asked Eren, holding out a silver pail.

“Oh, thank you,” Eren said. He hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. He reached into the bucket, and the old man must have seen his horrified expression because he burst out laughing; Eren had touched not an apple, but a cold and slimy shriveled apple core…

“My young friend! Accept my apologies. Try again, eh?”

Eren had frozen in his disgust; his hand still in the bucket. But now he was touching the smooth and shiny skin of an apple. Slowly and cautiously he pulled it out, looking nervously down as he did so.

Now the pail was filled with perfect apples, glossy and smooth. Bewildered he looked up at the old man, who nodded encouragingly.

“Eat, eat! No Apple of Discord, she!”

“Uh,” Eren said; Tim snickered and cast out his line again. There was no prohibition on taking fruit from strangers that he knew of; then again it might have been the kind of thing Levi thought was just common sense. “I’ll just...save it for later,” Eren said, putting it in his pocket.

 

 

 

 

“Shaw,” Levi said suddenly, the name bursting out of him. “Did you send him?

“Shaw?” the man said, obviously bewildered, and Levi's heart sank a little; it was clear that he didn't know him. Whence then had come Shaw... “Oh, do you mean--”

 

 

 

 

Levi was walking up from the house, his progress commonplace and unremarkable. He looked preoccupied, even troubled. 

“Is everything all right?” Eren asked. The old man and the young one had started arguing about something incomprehensible, and Eren had wandered away to skip stones, making a game of trying to hit the water and the patches of ice in a single throw.

“We should go,” Levi said.

“Well,” Eren said--he tried to wave to Tim and his grandfather, but they ignored him. “What is this place?” He walked back with Levi.

“Time’s realm,” Levi said. 

“Huh?”

“That was Time, back there. Arguing with himself.”

“But--” Eren looked back at the two figures, baffled. “He gave me an apple.”

Levi grunted.

“Is it...safe to eat?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Levi said. Eren sighed and pulled the apple out of his pocket. Their bags were neatly packed and lying on the front steps of the house. Levi shouldered his, and Eren bit cautiously into the apple, but it was perfect. 

 

 

 

 

They were traveling along the snowy landscape again. Levi seemed to have a new urgency, and Eren hurried to keep up. It was harder now than it had been when they’d first set out; it was so _cold._

Eren had thought he’d known cold--the North spent almost half the year blanketed in snow, and they worked outdoors in all weather when they needed to. But this was different. There was something dreadful about it, aggressive. It had leeched into his bones despite the layers or clothes and his snowsuit.

At some point he reached out--almost unconsciously, the way he had been doing for months--to Levi, for warmth, for comfort, seeking _something_. But when he reached for his magic something awful happened.

It wasn’t there.

“Levi!” he cried out, and Levi turned, coming to an abrupt stop. He pulled down the lower part of his face mask. 

“What’s wrong?” he said, and he didn’t wait for Eren to reply before skiing back.

“I can’t--feel anything!” Eren wailed. He had taken his magic for granted for most of his life; now that it was gone he felt moorless, adrift, as if he’d lost his whole identity.

“You’re--” Levi said, reaching for his hands and starting to pull a glove off.

“No!” Eren said, fisting his hand and pulling it back. “Anything! I can’t feel you, I can’t feel the North, I can’t--”

“Oh,” Levi said. “We’ve gone beyond the North. Beyond...our world.” Though he didn’t know what Levi was about to say next he _felt_ it, and his heart sank. “Our magic doesn’t work out here.”

Eren stared back at him, appalled. “Not at all? You can’t do _anything?”_

Levi shook his head, and Eren could only stare at him, wondering how he could be so calm. 

“What are we going to do?”

“Go to the waterfall. Break the ice, melt it--whatever it takes to get it moving again.”

“But, without our magic? _How?”_

“Eren.” He hesitated a moment, then lay a heavy gloved hand on Eren’s shoulder. “Think. Whoever came here before--the previous Gatekeepers--they faced the same thing. They did it without magic.”

“But you don’t know how.” He paused a moment, “Did...Time tell you?”

Levi shook his head. “He didn’t know. We have to keep moving. Come on.”

“Will it...come back?”

“Huh?”

“My magic,” Eren said mournfully.

Levi looked at him for a moment, then smirked. “It’s just your magic, Eren,” he said. “Your dick didn’t fall off.”

Eren laughed, startled. There was a wicked glint in Levi’s eye; he darted off in the snow, quick as a fox, and Eren grinned after him. He had recognized that look, a thousand thousand playground jibes and friendly brawls had led him here.

_I'll race you._

He set off after Levi, as quick as he could.

 

 

 

 

“Holy shit,” Eren said, staring up. How high was it? A thousand feet? Two? More? He had doubted the existence of this place, right up until they had come upon it. But it was just as Levi had said--an enormous waterfall, cascading rivers of water (or was it time?) frozen in place, down to the tiniest ripple. There was something primeval about it, too huge for the world; it filled his field of vision. “What are we--” he started to say, but he saw that Levi was already stripping off the snowsuit, revealing the maneuver gear underneath. 

Hurriedly he did the same, pulling out his own gear and strapping it on. For some reason it felt less cold here, and he was grateful for that. 

Levi dragged one of the bags in between them and opened it, pulling out something like a bandolier that he helped Eren strap across his chest. 

“What are these?” he said, touching one of the objects in its pockets. “Bombs?”

Levi grunted, tightening the straps. “This is how we’re going to lay them out,” he said, and he sketched a pattern in the air, explaining where to put the charges. “We’ll use the maneuver gear to fly up. Still worried?”

“Uh. Less?” Eren said. He held one of the tiny bombs in his hand. Levi had explained how to set it and how to use the auger to drill into the ice; they wouldn’t detonate them until they were safely back on the ground.

“What if it doesn’t work, though?”

“Then we’ll figure something else out. Ready?” Levi launched himself into the air, and Eren took a deep breath and followed him.

 

 

 

 

It was going well. They set the charges in the pattern Levi had described; he looked over his shoulder every so often to see how Eren was doing, but he was making good progress, struggling neither with the gear nor with drilling the holes into the ice to place the bombs. 

He was pleased. For a moment he let himself imagine being back home--a hot shower, a hot meal--he was reasonably sure that Time would speed their progress home when they had restored the flow. It seemed the least he could do. 

Back in the summer one of the other expensive purchases he had made had been three seconds; it might have seemed a strange acquisition for a man who banked and hoarded his own time.

But future time was much more expensive than past. 

He had stayed at the time-seller’s stall a long while. It had been early in September, after Eren had gone; he had still been angry and bitter, and he was not completely healed from what had happened.

It was a hot day--surprisingly hot for the North--and the tent the time-seller had put over her stall had been a welcome respite. 

“Do you have any ticks?” he asked. “No, no,” when she showed him a large Egyptian scarab beetle; her English was poor. She looked human, but wasn’t; she came from the beyond, and though he made it a point to attend every summer market he had never seen her before. She was fanning herself with a large fan made of peacock feathers and she watched him with curious over-bright eyes. 

He pointed to his watch--the battered old thing that had been almost his only inheritance from Kenny--pointed at the second hand, mimed a ticking clock. Her eyes widened in comprehension and she nodded; they haggled for a while over a price and then she took the watch from him and laid it upon the table.

From under her shirt she took a tiny vial--a fairy-sized hourglass--and set it almost reverently upon the damask tablecloth. Her hand never left the gold chain.

“Wait,” he said, with reluctance, as though the words were torn from him. _You don’t owe him anything. You certainly don’t owe him this._

The pain--of his injuries, his experiences--bore down on him, and he pushed it away impatiently, a frail old man pushing aside the overzealous grandchild that would hold him back.

“Do you have another watch? No,” he said, when she mimed a trade, avaricious curious eyes going to Kenny’s battered titanium watch. “I’ll keep that one. Something new. What do you have?”

She brought out a selection of timepieces to show him; eventually he settled on one and they agreed to a new price for the watch and the second tick. She gave him another of those long curious looks, and then went to the front of her tent and closed the curtains; they were alone in the semi-darkness, surrounded by ticks and hums and chimes and grains of sand slowly counting down. He saw her put an incongruously normal ‘We’ll be right back!’ sign on the front of the tent-curtain.

He had watched all this in wary silence, bracing a hand on the table in front of him. He still wasn’t back to his full strength.

She came back to his side and did a curious pantomime.

He shook his head. “No. I’m sorry--I don’t understand.”

She nodded as if this were the answer she had expected, and then she disappeared behind another curtain, leaving him alone with her livelihood--he wondered what had engendered her sudden trust in him. 

She reappeared at last with a long black velvet case, the kind a jeweler might use and then she held up one finger; _wait_. She unrolled it slowly along the tabletop, revealing a treasure trove of tiny curious objects.

She removed one and held it out to him in the palm of her hand.

He knew immediately what it was.

Three seconds. 

“Yes,” he said, not caring what it cost--his arm, a year’s salary, a year of his life. She nodded and placed it beside the other objects that he was purchasing, and she began rolling up the case.

“Wait,” he said, because not knowing the price was a far more foolish thing than being willing to pay the price. “How much?”

She motioned something universal at him: _Favor._

He nodded, unsurprised but acquiescing. 

Three seconds of the future; not much, only a fortune. Almost impossible to acquire, and not something he was likely to ever see again. 

Even in the slums of his birth there had been a little beauty, a few diamonds tossed in the rough. The old man that painted the lascivious (though surprisingly charming) murals in the brothel Levi had passed his childhood in had lived a few streets over; once or twice a year when he came to retouch or redo the murals Levi helped him carry his tools and paint back and forth. His apartment had been filled with oil paintings of nude men--most of them restrained and quiet and somehow sad. You never saw their faces. 

“Why are they sad?” he asked the old man once, and he had scowled at him and thrown a towel over the offending painting. 

“Don’t look at them,” he said crossly, limping around the apartment.

“Why? You paint naked women in the brothel?”

“Don’t look at them either,” the man said darkly. “Nothing but trouble! Here, play with this,” and he had shoved a toy at Levi, something he had never seen before. “Go home! Such as it is.”

Levi had walked carefully back, his new treasure hidden in his jacket. He wasn’t foolish enough to look as if he had anything worth taking.

The toy was a kind of kinetic sculpture; by a series of levers and bars and pulleys little balls went around it, up and down; it was astonishing. A world in miniature. He had spent hours looking at it; his favorite part was when suddenly it went from not much happening--there, a ball going down--here, a lever moving--to everything happening at once. A miniature cacophony of sound, and suddenly pieces tumbled into place, all the balls were in motion--it never failed to delight him.

The tumbling down pieces…

The toy was long gone, and it was a feeling he hadn’t had in twenty years or more, but it was the first thing he thought of, an ancient phrase etched and recalled, _the tumbling down pieces…_

As he watched the bombs detonate _(how? A faulty wire? His own error, or Eren’s? A saboteur?)_ , as he watched the great sheets of ice break loose and fall, as he watched Eren’s stunned stillness staring up into the face of the ice dam…

He had not known then, but this is what those three seconds had bought him: Eren’s life.

 

 

 

 

Eren still had three charges to go, but he was making good progress. Working the maneuver gear, drilling into the ice, placing the bombs--it was enough of a challenge to distract him from his worries. He didn’t think he’d ever match Levi’s smooth balletic motions but he’d improved enormously with the 3DM and he couldn't help being pleased with himself; the first bomb had taken more than five minutes to set--he’d done the last one in only forty-five seconds. 

Soon he’d be finished, and then he could signal to Levi and they could go down and see if this had worked.

There was a crack, that Eren’s ears--used to the silence--heard in confusion. He looked up and he did not hear what happened next, or he did not remember hearing it--he could only stare at the giant sheet of ice--thirty thousand tons or more--sheared off, falling towards him. His hands fell open and he dropped both bomb and augur; they fell below and before he could move, before he could think he felt Levi’s body--so sudden--sharp--almost violently strong--compared to his own perfect lassitude. 

He hadn’t been able to think; there hadn’t been time to think. He would have been dead before he had understood what was happening. A death without fear; it took time to be afraid. 

Around them the ice was crashing up and breaking; the noise was _tremendous_. Shards of ice, powdered ice and snow flew up from hundreds of feet below as ice crashed into the frozen river beneath--the condensation in the air made a sudden rainbow and Eren watched it form over Levi’s shoulder as though the world had been set to fast-forward.

“What do I tell you? What do I always tell you?” Levi asked him, seeing the pure delayed terror on his face.

Later Eren would think and wonder--there had been something almost flirtatious about that--or, _no_ , come on, it was Levi--but certainly _teasing._

He thought the words but didn’t say them, his grin slow to form, firmly in place when they landed lightly on the ground, Levi releasing him. He relaxed his body so he could tumble harmlessly, uninjured.

He stared up at the waterfall--the ice was still breaking apart and it was amazing to watch. It was something he would never see again, and he wanted to remember. Behind the ice, the water (time?) was flowing again, loudly, deafeningly, and Eren watched, feeling only awe. Great cold clouds of mist were flying up and filling the air, and the rainbow was a living thing, something he could almost touch. He had never seen anything like this--this was one of the forces that turned the universe. Was it real, or just a metaphor, broken down for human understanding?

_Nothing can hurt you here, while you’re with me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are loved <3


	3. February

One evening in mid-February they sat in Levi’s office after dinner. Though the sun had set there was a strange afterglow, light (moonlight? the last sunlight of the day unready to depart?) reflecting off the deep snow outside, casting long shadows across trees and toolsheds. Eren sat across from Levi in a brown leather club chair. He was engrossed in his book, and when Levi drew his legs up onto his couch and crossed them, closed his eyes, and began to breathe deeply Eren paid no attention except to raise a hand and idly sketch a ward in the air. 

The book was a detective story from another world (books from other worlds were always turning up in the library and then disappearing without warning, like hobo travelers riding the rails. Usually they were quite interesting, but it did mean you had to read them quickly or else risk never finding out what happened to Little Nell or the Paper Man). This one seemed to be set in an established world--probably part of a series of novels--but although everything was treated matter-of-factly it was very odd; humans seemed not to have any magic at all, and they were ruled over in a sort of dark underclass way by horrible monsters who had only lately arrived…

His favorite thing to do when reading these books was to try to puzzle out whether they were set in their _own_ native worlds, or worlds that existed only in the minds of their authors. It was often impossible to tell, but he liked doing it anyway.

Levi’s meditation was not the ordinary kind, which he almost always did on his own, presumably in the mornings or before bed (Eren had come to understand meditation was an _essential_ practice; even a few days neglect meant his magic running wild and out of control). It was something else.

Part of the unspoken pact they’d made walking home from the train station that warm September afternoon. 

Hypocrisy. That awful wound in Levi, _that_ had been more than the pain of all those terrible traumas. It was pain untouched and unexamined, never lived, never processed. Like getting bills in the mail that you wouldn’t--or couldn’t--pay, crumpling them up and throwing them away without looking. 

When Levi did his work--always unannounced, never discussed ahead of time--Eren sat nearby and carefully warded him. Levi would do the same for him. Eren doubted they would ever talk about it. He knew enough about Levi’s past and Levi’s character to know that what he was doing had to be painful and hard--dealing with his _own_ anger and suffering was difficult enough. 

The warding Eren did was ceremonial and probably unnecessary. But that was the agreement they had made together: _I’ll try not to be a hypocrite. And so will I. And maybe things can be different._

If Eren’s little best let Levi go deeper, let him sort his painful jumbled past into some kind of order then Eren would have cheerfully done it til Judgment Day. If it kept that wound from returning...if it meant Levi dealing with whatever demons he had, instead of burying them… He didn’t _know_ if it really mattered, if his presence meant anything at all, but when it was his turn, knowing Levi was near was a source of strength when he went to dark places in his own head. And maybe it _was_ all just symbolic anyway, but it was a special sort of symbolism, one that seemed to make them accountable to each other, one that relied on the trust they had in each other.

The first few times it had happened Eren had been edgey--checking and rechecking his (okay, _unnecessary_ ) wards, only maintaining the barest pretense of being busy with something else. But like so much else that had begun strange between them this too had become normal and commonplace. Eren was reading and keeping only absentminded track of Levi. If he thought about it, he knew that Levi had dropped down within himself--in his own Jungian Lexicon Levi was about three levels down, far removed but not unreachable.

So that night, unusually, it fell to Eren to notice they had company. He looked up from his book with a flicker of surprise. Out loud he said, 

“Were you expecting the other Squad Leaders tonight?”

Hanji and Erwin and Mike had just passed the outer boundary of the house and there was something very _odd_ about their approach. He felt Levi move, psychically, and come back--if they had been standing by a window here Levi would have leaned over his shoulder to peer through the curtains. Because they were so close--so intimately entwined, even when they were respecting each other’s privacy--Eren felt his sudden shift from relaxed contemplation to wary alertness, and-- _anger?_

“What is it?”

He was surprised by Levi’s sharp inhalation, the way he drew the wards of the house close-to; _against_ Erwin and the others!

He was about to repeat himself when he suddenly understood.

They were coming for him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The other Squad Leaders appearing without warning like this--Levi’s uncharacteristic sudden anger--his own odd cock-eyed magic--it could only add up to one thing. Back in the summer Levi had told him that he was safe, and he had believed it. That seemed very far away now. His mind raced, in a blind panic. Had Levi had been wrong, or had they found some other way to use his magic against him? _Bond_ magic. Eren floundered before his training kicked in; ego firmly trouncing id.

“Wait,” he said gently, putting a hand on Levi’s shoulder. There was something not right, some discordant note in all of this. As soon as his first blind panic had subsided he realized something else.

If there was going to be a fight among _the most powerful magicians in the world_ then someone was going to get hurt. Or _killed_. And Levi wasn’t the only person here he cared about.

Levi stared back at him--angry, wretched, perplexed--

“Let me do a quick read of intentions,” Eren wheedled. He saw him hesitate; Levi didn’t want to hurt his friends any more than he wanted to see Eren _taken_...

“Can you do that? From this distance? Against all of them? They’re warded…”

“They won’t be expecting it,” Eren said immediately. Anyway, a read of intentions was not an attack per se; it was one of those slippery, obscure skills that most practiced magicians thought too unreliable to bother about. It was unlikely to be something they had warded against.

“I’m getting better at it. Let me try.”

“Quickly then,” Levi said, and Eren closed his eyes.

_darkness; Levi a pillar blazing light which he ignored. He forced himself into the wider sphere of the house, the grounds. Hanji and Erwin and Mike were three flickering colored lights, torchlights to Levi’s blazing sun (though that was his own fancy, his own coloration in the vision reflecting his bias and affection for the man) and quickly--like a someone who knows he only has one chance to hit a target before it moves out of range--Eren threw himself into the outer rim of their collective conscious, narrowing his focus to Hanji, who he knew best._

Out loud, puzzled, he said, “They think I’m a...succubus?” It took a moment for him to recall himself, to exit the vision and come back. For his brain to make sense of what he’d seen in Hanji’s mind.

When he opened his eyes Levi was looking at him oddly. He blinked at him for a long time; it was like trying to come out of a drunken stupor, waking from a dream, trying to see through a bee’s eyes when you’d just been a bear. It took him another minute to understand that Levi was trying not to laugh.

“Wait.” Eren. “Wait!” Sudden outraged understanding. “They think I’m a _succubus?”_

“I think,” Levi said, barely managing to keep his composure, “in your case it would be an incubus.”

 

 

 

 

Only a few minutes later the coatrack was leading the other three Squad Leaders--wary, all--into the house. It guided them down the corridor to Levi’s study, and there was Levi, leaning against the back of a leather sofa and laughing behind his eyes. Eren was scowling some distance behind him.

When Hanji had summoned them on this errand Erwin hadn’t been sure what to expect; seeing Levi so at ease was reassuring...there had to be some mistake. And if there wasn’t then Levi was in control of the situation, after all…

The coatrack had left briefly, and it hopped back in carrying a bowl of water, which it laid carefully on the table. They all stared at it. Erwin was starting to feel slightly out of his depth--he looked sharply again at Levi, but apart from _amused_ his old friend was unreadable.

It was Eren who broke the silence. “Well?” he said harshly, in a voice totally unlike his usual one, “What can we do for you?”

Levi coughed a little; Erwin narrowed his eyes and Mike regarded him with outright suspicion. Hanji seemed baffled as to how to proceed; she’d been so certain a few hours ago...

“Eh…” Hanji said, doubting herself for the first time. This was not going the way she had expected. Eren strode forward; he held out a hand to her, over the bowl of water. 

“You want to test me, don’t you!” he demanded.

“Eh, well,” she turned her surprised gaze on the others, but they were no help. “Well, if you consent…”

“I consent!” Eren practically shouted.

Levi coughed a few more times sharply into his hand, and behind his moustache Mike began to smile. Even Erwin--relieved that this evening _wasn’t_ going the way he had expected (and really, he hadn’t known _what_ to think when Hanji had blown into his office a few hours earlier, reeling off calculations and accusations) began to relax, even see the humor in the situation himself. _How had they known?_ he wondered, glancing between Eren and Levi. Hanji took out a long silver hat pin, and used it to prick Eren’s finger. A few red drops fell into the bowl of water.

“I don’t understand,” Hanji said out loud, puzzling down at the blood slowly spreading through the bowl.

“All right,” Erwin said slowly. “Obviously there’s some...confusion here…”

“I’m not a damn succubus!” Eren shouted, unable to contain his anger any longer, and from behind him there came an unfamiliar sound.

Levi was laughing.

“Incubus,” he managed to say.

 

 

 

 

Eren glared at them; he had been going to stomp off, but when the coatrack came forward solicitously, holding a handkerchief he took it with a muttered, “Thanks,” pressed it to his bleeding finger, and went to sulk in a corner of the room.

“I’m sorry,” Erwin said slowly, trying to grapple as best he could; instead of their planned rescue mission they seemed only to have succeeded in upsetting and annoying Eren; “to have disturbed you both this evening. When Hanji came to me with her concerns there was...there seemed to be…”

“There was a huge power surge here last summer,” Hanji broke in. Now _her_ arms were crossed, and she looked annoyed, dogged, puzzled. “Right before you got ill, Levi.” In spite of the spell that had showed Eren was clearly _human_ there was _something_ not right about all this. “I wasn’t aware when it happened, but I’ve invented a device--like a seismograph, for magic--and I finally got around to having someone record the data, looking for patterns that might tell us--”

“Hanji.”

“There was a huge power surge right before your illness,” Hanji said, adjusting her glasses and fixing Levi with her steady, uncompromising stare. 

Levi and Eren exchanged a look; it was all she could do not to shout, ‘Ah-ha!’

The answer had come upon her suddenly as she’d been puzzling over the odd readings; Eren being an incubus--a demon that seduced unsuspecting victims, in order to steal power for itself--it had seemed to fit perfectly with Levi’s odd symptoms. Then there had been Eren’s strange departure and hasty return--Levi’s very uncharacteristic but obvious attachment to him. She hadn’t _wanted_ to believe it. She liked Eren, and had thought he was good company for Levi; but all the signs…

For a moment the others all stood perfectly still, like dressed mannequins...

“I guess we were never going to get away with it forever,” Levi drawled. He looked startlingly unconcerned.

Eren exhaled, looking at the still and frozen figures of the other squad leaders. Levi had done this trick before, on the night the Titans had attacked them here at the house...the night his secret had finally been exposed. “Do we have to tell them the truth?” His anger and annoyance had faded in the face of a _real_ worry--if they told Erwin and the others about Levi’s blood magic use now--would they try to prosecute him? After the fact?

Levi shrugged. “If we lie--even if we don’t tell them everything--it’s going to come out later. Hanji’s like a dog with a bone.”

“You don’t seem worried…”

“Erwin can be very lawyerly when it suits him,” Levi said cryptically. “And it’s not like they have a long list of candidates to replace me. But I can leave you out of it…”

“No,” Eren said, flashing a dark angry look.

Levi shrugged, as if to say: _suit yourself._ Time resumed. 

“You’d better all sit down,” he said casually, sitting down himself. The coatrack had come in with tea things. “This is going to take a little while to explain.”

 

 

 

 

“But the power surge,” Hanji said suddenly; it hadn’t taken as long to explain as Levi had threatened, though her tea had grown cold as she’d listened with horror and fascination and yes, even revulsion, to the telling.

Blood magic! She stared at her friend, unable to fathom it.

“That night something happened--there was an _enormous_ surge of magical power.”

Levi glanced at Eren. For just a moment it seemed to Hanji as if there was some flicker--as if one frame of film had been carefully excised from reality--and she blinked, but it was there and gone before she had a chance to process it; then Eren was speaking:

“That night…” he said slowly. “Titans attacked the house. A whole lot of Titans, there were--I don’t know--hundreds. More, maybe. There was…” he glanced over at Levi, who was inscrutable. “I...wished for it to go away.”

“Wished?” Hanji repeated, blinking at him.

“I...had a boon. I’d had it for a long time…”

“What kind of boon?” Erwin asked eagerly, leaning forward. 

“Erwin,” Levi said mildly. 

“It’s all right,” Eren sighed. “I saved a Luck Dragon’s life when I was a kid, and…”

Erwin almost gasped; the other two looked surprised--Hanji more puzzled than surprised--but Erwin looked stunned. There was something in the way he looked at Eren then that made him really uncomfortable--that made him wish he had heeded Levi’s warning and hadn’t been so ready to speak. But when Levi had laid himself bare, he hadn’t been able to do less himself.

“Luck dragons? They’re real?” Hanji asked, glancing at Erwin for confirmation.

“Oh yes,” he breathed out slowly; living at the Western Gate he supposed he had more experience with them than the others. Although once it had been Hanji’s gate they had flocked to...now they were close to the end of things, to the ends of the world…

He looked at the boy with new eyes; he had thought that Eren was officer material, that he was clay to be turned at Erwin’s wheel. He had been annoyed by Levi’s uncharacteristic fickleness--offering the boy up and then taking him back, like a child on the playground who doesn’t want to share his toy. Now things were becoming clearer. It wasn’t just anyone who saw a Luck Dragon--especially outside of the borderlands. Saving one’s life…

“You never told us,” Mike said. “That Titans attacked here. Why--”

“The spell,” Levi said slowly in sudden dawning understanding. He looked over at Eren for confirmation. “What you wished for--”

“Damn,” Eren said, running a hand through his hair. “Damn, I never thought--this whole time, I thought we were outside it, but we were a part of it, too--”

“Huh?” Hanji said.

“What I wished for,” Eren said, “Was for that night to have never happened. Levi told me afterward that it was too broad, but I wasn’t thinking clearly, I just wanted to fix things…”

“We remembered the Titan attack, but we never told you about it because the spell was acting on us,” Levi said thoughtfully. “It would have raised too many questions, I suppose…”

“Then that was the night…”

“You caught me using blood magic,” Levi confirmed.

There was a long silence. 

“Well,” Erwin said at the end of it. Eren thought he had never seen a human being look so much like a stuffed frog. “You don’t look as though you’ve been using blood magic.”

“No. I’ve recovered.”

“We don’t have any proof though,” Erwin said, getting to his feet. “We’ll need to discuss all this later, but right now I think we’ve imposed on you long enough. Thank you for the tea.”

Eren goggled at him, then looked over at Levi. But Levi seemed unsurprised by this easy absolution; he got up and walked with them to the door. 

Hanji hung back; preoccupied and a little irked that the conversation was being cut short. Eren wondered if this was the ‘lawyerly’ business Levi had mentioned, if Erwin was retreating to consider what he would permit himself to ‘know’, to allow the others to ‘know.’

It was clear to him that as shocked as they’d been they hadn’t really believed that Levi could have used blood magic. It was such a taboo--and Levi was such a deeply loyal, devoted servant of the North and the Corp--it was impossible for them to hold two such contradictory ideas. Eren was old enough to understand that people generally believed what they wanted to believe, and disregarded what was inconvenient. Even now they were probably rewriting this history for themselves; deciding Levi’s transgression couldn’t have been as bad as they’d described, or that there had to be some ‘misunderstanding’ like Erwin had said.

‘Blood magic lite’ maybe, like a new flavor of salad dressing--half the calories, and none of the fat of regular blood magic! He sighed. This was a good outcome, wasn’t it? The best that could be hoped for.

He was behind Hanji in the hall as she lagged behind, preoccupied. 

“I can’t believe you thought I was a succubus!” he hissed at her, before he could think better of it.

She stared at him for a moment, then laughed merrily. “Sorry, Eren,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “Under the circumstances it was the most logical explanation!”

More believable than Levi using blood magic, for example? Eren thought crossly. He came to stand beside Levi, and they watched them go from the front porch, each of them bound for their own gates.

“Erwin was in a hurry,” he said, breaking the silence first. A little reluctantly--he was still reeling, annoyed and discomfited by the evening’s events.

Levi grunted. “It’s not the last we’ll hear about it. Erwin prefers to form a strategy before acting. This was too much new information at once, I think.”

“They don’t really believe you were using blood magic,” Eren said, steady but questioning. Seeking reassurance as much as confirmation.

“That’s for the best, don’t you think?” Levi asked, his eyes like two deep gray pools. There was something in that look, Eren thought--understanding and appreciation and commiseration, maybe. _Levi_ hadn’t forgotten, he thought with relief. Levi wasn’t trying to rewrite history. Even if they didn’t talk about it, he knew how hard it had been. For them both.

The relief swept over him in a way he couldn’t really articulate--but part of it was knowing that they shared a history, a truth. That he could trust _Levi_ at least not to ignore or forget what was inconvenient.

He looked away, all his annoyance fading in a rush of affection. _That_ was inconvenient, he thought, and he smiled reluctantly. 

 

 

 

 

Ever since coming to the North Eren had fallen asleep at once, like a stone dropping into a deep pond. 

Tonight was different.

He tossed and turned; in spite of the ‘good’ outcome (the _best_ outcome, really, that they could have hoped for) he was dissatisfied. Repulsed and shocked by Hanji’s erroneous assumptions, annoyed by Mike and Erwin’s easy acceptance of them.

Probably the more so because they ran to the truth, he thought unhappily. He _did_ want Levi. He didn’t want the whole world knowing about it though. 

He thought he’d been doing well, keeping his secret to himself. Was he so obvious that they could believe--without any real evidence--that he was some kind of sex demon? 

“Levi’s the damn succubus,” he muttered unfairly, nonsensically, punching his pillow. The number of times Levi had woken him up in his dreams…

Deep down he knew the hurt came mainly from the fact that there _was_ a kernel of truth to it. Nothing like what Hanji had accused him of, obviously, but his attraction was real and deep and it not going anywhere if the last six months were anything to go by. 

He had been all right with his own dichotomy; loving Levi while also having the (more than occasional) dirty thought about him. Maybe that was his own hypocritical ignoring of an inconvenient fact, he thought with an unhappy sigh.

But it felt like his love had been smirched, dirtied. As though something precious of his had been dragged through the dirt and handed back with an indifferent shrug and a half-hearted apology. 

Levi hadn’t seemed to mind. That hurt, too, didn’t it? Levi had thought it was funny.

This was a different kind of hurt, a pale and hollow hurt. He rolled onto his back. It wasn’t that he’d ever thought that Levi would love him back--or not in the same way. It wasn’t that he’d thought that some day Levi discover his attraction for him and that would be that, all his dreams come true; no.

He knew Levi loved him, that Levi cared about him. Maybe _not_ in the same way, but that was all right. He could live with platonic love, with friendship and no expectation of more. But it still felt like a slight, somehow, that Levi could take the whole thing so lightly.

Because if Levi had been angry--well, that might have meant that it hit him a little too close to home too. Only it hadn’t. He’d thought it was funny--dismissed it easily--because for him it was absurd. For him it had no basis in reality at all.

 _So what if he thinks it’s funny?_ Eren scolded himself crossly. _You’re being very junior high about this, getting mad because you have a crush on your homeroom teacher, and the other teachers know. So what? Stop being a dumb kid, already._ But it hurt, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking about Neil Gaiman's 'A Study in Emerald' when I was writing about Eren's detective story :P Whether it was that or some other story is impossible to say, but I do recommend the Gaiman one for further reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Feedback is loved!


	4. The Visitor

 

 

 

 

Whether by nature or habit Levi was not a heavy sleeper. He drowsed more often than he slept, and he wandered the house--like some wraith or uneasy ghost--more often than he drowsed. He didn’t need much sleep, or he had gotten used to restlessness.

Tonight though--by design or odd mischance--he was sound asleep, in that sleep that is most like death when the sending came.

He heard Eren cry out, and it took form in his dream, became part of his dream long before he had any awareness something was happening in the world. It was a long time before he emerged even partway from dreaming, longer still before he realized the sound that had woken him had come from within the house, and not his head.

 

 

 

 

“Eren?” 

Levi’s voice was raised beyond its usual pitch; he might have even been concerned. The room was dark, and Eren was crouched on his bed on top of the sheet. He had been crying. 

The air in the room was cold--very cold--one spot in particular Levi carefully avoided as he came to sit by Eren.

Eren hadn’t spoken. An unmistakeable pall hung over them. Levi had attended enough deaths, enough funerals, enough stranger things to know it.

“Who was it?” he asked softly when Eren still didn’t speak, dreading the answer. Mikasa or his friend Armin, he thought; who else would Eren know well enough to receive such a visitor--who else would make that long journey?

“Mada,” Eren said, in a choked, throaty voice as if Levi’s question had broken his voice free. “Mada Tallisa. She--oh god, oh god,” Eren muttered, rocking back and forth. “Her throat was cut. She couldn’t speak. She was murdered.”

Levi stared at that cold, empty patch of the room; one last spell, one last message sent and received. He laid a hand on Eren’s shoulder, palm flat against the blade.

 

 

 

 

“I need to go back to the city,” Eren was muttering, dressing and packing haphazardly. Levi watched from the bed. Eren had sobbed a little longer then gotten up in this stumbling rush to upend drawers and knock over his furniture. 

“Is there a train we can take?” he said, turning his desperate eyes on Levi.

“Not until morning,” Levi answered. It was after midnight; the last train had left.

Eren moaned, clutching his head.

“There is another way we can go,” Levi said, almost casually, and Eren dropped his hands and stared at him.

“You’re talking about--you’re saying--transmaterial--”

“We just call it the back way,” Levi said, getting to his feet. “It can be dangerous...I don’t need to tell you that, do I? You’re not to attempt it on your own.”

“No...no, I wouldn’t.”

Levi nodded once, _that’s settled, then,_ and left the room--presumably to dress and pack his own necessaries. 

Alone Eren stared at the mess on his floor--piles of socks and underwear and pants and shirts--and he blinked against tears again. 

_Mada…_

He had woken up to see her standing there, in his room--it had been so sudden, so surreal that he hadn’t even been afraid. He supposed he had still thought he was dreaming--at first.

But the pathetic way she had reached for him--he had seen that, before he had seen the red line drawn across her neck, like some sickening illustration out of a book…

She had reached for him--clawing at the air, speaking wordlessly, repeating her silent message three or four times. He had come fully awake; he could only stare until the sending disappeared, evaporating like mist on a sunny day. He had been too astonished to feel anything.

But there could be no mistaking the message. Mada was dead. Mada had been murdered.

 

 

 

 

Levi was waiting for him in the front hall, wearing only his clothes and a black jacket. Eren had his backpack over his back, and he paused halfway down the stairs.

“You’re not--” he started to say, and then didn’t know how to finish. You’re not packed? You’re not coming? You’re not staying? 

He supposed, a little dully, that it had been presumptuous to assume Levi would stay with him while he dealt with whatever happened next. His work was here. The death--even the murder--of a low-status Mada back in the city was surely a job for city officials--Military Police, perhaps, but not the Gatekeeper of the North.

“I don’t need anything,” Levi said simply. “I can buy clothes when we’re in town. Come on.”

Eren walked down the rest of the stairs. He still felt lightheaded. Levi moved to the front doors, and Eren went to stand beside him. 

“There are other ways to start,” Levi said briefly, “but this is easiest, since we’re already here.” He opened both doors simultaneously--Eren felt something, something tantalizingly unknown. The closest he could have described it would have been the sensation at the top of a rollercoaster; that light feeling in your stomach when it seems as if you and gravity are about to part ways. He stuck close to Levi, and then they walked forward into a world of shadows.

 

 

 

 

Afterward he could not remember the journey, except sometimes in dreams, when floating heads would speak to him, or snakes, or acorns. Levi said that was normal when he asked about it; the back ways were dangerous. It took time to be able to travel on them without forgetting who you were.

“Do the other Squad Leaders use the back ways?”

Levi had shrugged. “None of us do it more often than we have to.”

But they arrived safely, and he did remember that. He stood there, blinking, in a parking lot...somewhere. While Levi went and did something.

“You’re Eren,” he murmured to himself, eyes closed, not quite believing it.

Levi came back. “All right,” he said. He took Eren by the elbow, and shuffled him along. Then he was being pushed into a car.

“Wait. Whose car is this? Where are we going?”

“I rented it.”

“You rented a _car?”_ Eren repeated, in real astonishment. It shook him free from the last of his fugue, and he stared at Levi.

Levi regarded him calmly. “You know I wasn’t born in the North,” he said. 

“I--yeah, but--don’t you need--credit cards? ID? For that?”

“Why wouldn’t I have credit cards? Or ID?”

“I don’t know,” Eren muttered stupidly, leaning back against his seat. Truth be told he was surprised Levi knew _how_ to drive, but he wasn’t about to say that.

“What’s her address?” Levi asked.

Eren allowed himself one last sigh--he would never see Mada alive again--and told him.

 

 

 

 

There was no traffic at this time of night, and it took less than twenty minutes to get to Mada’s building. Eren regarded it with great weariness before getting out of the car and beginning the long trudge up the stairs. As usual, the elevator was broken.

Levi walked quietly at his side, and at the door of her apartment Eren reached for the extra key she kept hidden; he unlocked the door and they stepped through together into the darkened apartment. Levi turned on the light switch, and Eren winced preemptorily, anticipating the awful scene. 

But there was nothing at all. Mada’s furniture...Mada’s knick knacks. Her few books--mostly cookbooks--her souvenir plastic cacti and collection of risque fridge magnets...he looked around wildly.

Her bedroom was empty, the bed neatly made up. The bathroom clean and shining. 

“I don’t--” he muttered, and looked at Levi, unable to keep from hoping.

But Levi was shaking his head; he had felt it too, that sending, even if Eren had been the only one to witness it. “They may have taken the body away already,” he said gently.

“But we just left--we couldn’t have been gone more than a few hours, right?”

“She may have died days ago,” Levi said. “If there’s a long way to travel...and the North is a long way, especially for a little spell like that. It’s almost a miracle her message made it through at all. Things like that...they get lost, more often than not.” There was something ominous in what he was saying, but Eren didn’t--or couldn’t--hear it just then. He sank down to the couch.

“So what now?” he asked tiredly.

“We wait til morning, and go to the morgue, I guess. Find out what happened.”

Eren nodded, running his hands through his hair.

“She knew my mother,” he said quietly, “when she was a little girl. I don’t know how old she really was, but she was old already when my mother knew her. She was…” he sighed, leaving off. He couldn’t talk about all Mada had been, not now. “Who would want to kill her? It doesn’t make any _sense!_ She didn’t make waves, she was--” he clenched a fist, slamming it on his thigh. “She didn’t make enemies! It just doesn’t make any damn sense.” He looked up hopelessly at Levi, as if he held all the answers, and Levi felt a curious answering tug. Did Eren still believe in fairness after all this time? There was something oddly charming about that kind of obstinate naivete. 

“Try to sleep,” Levi said. “We can get an early start in the morning.” 

Eren rose reluctantly, shuffling off to the single small bedroom.

 

 

 

 

Of course he didn’t sleep. Couldn't. He came out of the room after an hour of staring at the ceiling to find Levi still awake, sitting on the couch and reading one of Mada’s cookbooks. He sat on the opposite end of the couch, bleak and dejected.

He was asleep within minutes. Levi got up to drape a blanket over him, looking around the room as he did so. 

He had never met Eren’s Mada, had not thought much about her until now in spite of Eren’s frequent mentions of her. He had dismissed her as nothing more than a slightly-savvier than usual low-rent enchantress. But now he wondered. 

There was something a little _too much_ about the rooms they were in...it felt more like being on the set of a stage play than being in someone’s actual home. As if this were someone’s carefully cultivated public persona, not their own private space. And then there was that sending...that had not been accidental. He had been telling the truth when he’d said that it was unusual, exceptional even for it to have arrived intact, with only a few days’ delay.

No. Perhaps Mada Tallisa had not been an ordinary Mada after all; perhaps her life had been more complicated than Eren realized. 

He turned back to Eren, watching him thoughtfully for a few moments. He turned out the lights and sat down in a chair, to get what sleep he could before morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback loved <3


	5. The Disconsolate

“Commander Erwin?” His intercom lit up, and his secretary carried on without waiting for a reply, “Captain Levi on Line One for you.”

Erwin blinked in surprise, but did not miss a beat; “Thank you, Henry,” he said as he picked up the receiver. Levi did not communicate by telephone. He and Hanji had rigged up some sort of communication, that he knew, but no phone in the North could patch you through to the city. 

If you had dared to place a call in the North (assuming you could get a phone to work in the first place), you might have been connected to a long-dead 18th century poet, the sound faint and tinny as if it were coming from underwater...or fairyland, with some eldritch voice threatening to murder you...or perhaps just the faded sound of an opera recording on someone’s phonograph. But an ordinary phone call? To the number you had dialed? Never.

How, then was Levi calling....

“Levi?” he said, a bit doubtfully.

“Erwin,” Levi said. Contrary to his expectations Levi’s voice was clear and undistorted; he might have been calling from down the hall. It was disconcerting.

“Where are you? Are you _here?”_

“I got into the city last night.”

Stranger and stranger. Levi never left the North unless duty required it. “But--”

“Erwin,” Levi interrupted. “Do you know anything about a woman named Mada Tallisa? She was Eren’s teacher, for a while.”

“I--no,” Erwin said, baffled by this apparent non-sequitor.

“Well, she’s dead. We think she was murdered.”

“Oh…” 

“I think she was Zackly’s mistress.”

Dead silence. 

“Erwin?”

“I’m--here. Did you say _murdered?”_

“A sending came. Last night...the message was pretty clear.”

“And you saw it?”

“No. It was gone by the time I came in. Eren saw it. The message was for him.”

Erwin ran a troubled hand through his blond hair. “Levi, how sure are you--”

“Sure,” Levi said. “I wanted to give you a heads up. I think Zackly must not know yet, since her body is still sitting in the morgue.”

Erwin breathed out, staring at nothing in particular.

“There’s more, Erwin.”

“Of course there is. Go on.”

“I called the morgue just now...the one I thought they were most likely to have taken the body to, and I told them who I was and did they have her. Do you know what they said?”

“Don’t keep me in suspense…”

“ ‘Oh, yes, here it is: Mada Tallisa, approximately 55 years, cause of death: heart attack.’ “

Erwin frowned. “You said--”

“The sending that came had its throat cut; a pretty clear message, wouldn’t you say? And yet I don’t think that’s the kind of thing a coroner would fail to notice.”

“Have you seen the body yet?”

“No. Eren’s still asleep. We’re going to go down as soon as he gets up, and I have a feeling the next stop he’s going to want to make is to see Zackly. It’s why I wanted to let you know…”

Erwin sighed again. “All right. Thanks, Levi.”

“Sorry,” Levi said. “If anything else happens I’ll let you know. But I think you can expect us over there fairly soon.” He rang off, and Erwin put the receiver back in its cradle staring blankly for a moment into the distance. Then he pressed the button for the intercom;

“Henry?” he said. “Get me Commander Zackly on the line, please.”

 

 

 

 

Eren had been quiet and pale on the way to the morgue; he got out of the car slowly, as if the drive had aged him sixty years. 

Silence never bothered Levi. He had kept quiet himself, keeping his own counsel. He had not told Eren about either of his early morning phone calls.

Later Eren wouldn’t remember the drive, or the walk into the building; they let him view the body--Mada’s body--through a monitor in a room so bare of decoration they might have been in a model office in a furniture showroom. 

That was the first thing he remembered. The office, and seeing Mada’s body on that screen. He hadn’t spoken until now; 

“I want to see her,” he said, before he had even processed what he was looking at. He stared at the image, his face a blank mask of grief; and then he frowned.

“Wait,” he said. He stirred; he turned to Levi. “That can’t--”

“Can you give us a moment, please,” Levi said to the clerk who was hovering in the doorway. 

The man murmured some polite acquiescence and shut the door; Eren stared frowning at the screen. “Her throat,” he said, “It’s not cut. She--” he looked at Levi; angry, perplexed, worried. As if he were doubting his own sanity.

“Yes,” Levi said, which was no help.

Eren made a frustrated noise and turned back to the screen. “I saw her!” he protested. “When she came--I couldn’t have _imagined_ that!”

“I don’t think you did. There’s another possibility.”

Eren turned quickly back to him. “What?” he demanded.

“The sending was a message, Eren. Not a projection. Mada Tallisa wouldn’t have had much time to prepare it…”

Eren winced and nodded.

“She might have been trying to tell you she was murdered. Not that she had died.”

“But--”

When they had come in the clerk had handed him a folder; the autopsy had already been performed. Levi opened it and laid it on the desk in front of Eren. 

“The cause of death says ‘heart attack,’” Levi said. “But the sending said she had been murdered. So: was the sending being truthful?” It was a rhetorical question; they both knew it had been.

“So she sent me a message the only way she could,” Eren said, more to himself than to Levi. “But who would kill her! And--try to cover it up! She knew. But she couldn’t do anything about it...she wasn’t taken completely by surprise, so why couldn’t she fight back!?”

“She might have tried,” Levi said. “It sounds like she was a canny woman--”

“She _was!”_

“So whoever killed her,” Levi said gently, “Took her by surprise.”

“And had to have been stronger than she was,” Eren said bitterly.

“Or luckier.”

“Is there any way to find out?” Eren said, “Magically, I mean--what might have happened to her? Who did this?”

“There are things we could try,” Levi said. “But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Whoever did this seems to have taken pains to cover their tracks.”

Eren nodded, looking disappointed anyway. 

“I’m sorry, Eren.”

“I know,” Eren said, with an unhappy smile. “Thanks. I still--I want to see her. I need to see her.”

Levi nodded. “When we go down...keep quiet about this.”

“What…”

“Just don’t say anything.”

Eren gave him a frustrated look, and Levi laid a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder. “You want to yell and scream and kick up a fuss? You can, but it won’t do anything.” Then he turned and opened the door and went outside. Eren exhaled a long angry breath before following him.

 

 

 

 

They sat in the reception area outside of Zackly’s office, Eren blankly staring at nothing in particular. They had stopped back at Mada’s apartment before coming here, and with Levi’s help Eren had tried to scry her death. But as Levi had predicted it hadn’t worked; all Eren had gotten was the psychic equivalent of tv static, endless white snow and jagged noise.

“The Commander will see you now,” someone said, and Eren got up automatically. Levi walked ahead of him, and just before he passed into the office someone touched Eren’s arm.

He looked up blankly, into a face that was vaguely familiar. 

“I’m sorry, Eren,” the man said sincerely. “I understand you were very close to her.”

“I--” Eren said; his confusion must have been apparent because the man nodded encouragingly. 

“I’m Zeke,” he said. “We’ve met before. At your friend Jean’s Christmas party, remember? And--”

“Oh. Right. Thanks.” Eren said, still in that mostly blank monotone. “I--wait, didn’t you work for--”

Zeke nodded; embarrassed or sad, it was hard to tell--and said, “Commander Malcolm has retired...Commander Zackly was kind enough to offer me a job…”

“Oh,” Eren said still blankly, wondering if he ought to offer congratulations or condolences or…

“You shouldn’t keep him waiting,” Zeke said, and ushered him in.

 

 

 

 

If Eren had had any suspicions that Mada’s covert lover had played a role in her death they were swept away by that meeting. Levi and Erwin and Zeke--they were respectful, but they might as well not have been in the room. They hadn't known her. They hadn't loved her.

In Zackly’s face Eren saw a sincere grief that matched his own. It was soothing in a way to know he wasn't alone. Someone else had known the real Mada, not only the mask she had displayed to most of the world.

After the ritual greetings and condolences Zackly asked him to describe the sending and he did, though it was difficult. Not to remember, but to say the words out loud. Levi had taught him to record his observations accurately, but even if he hadn't that image would have been seared in his mind forever.

Aloud they discussed the facts of the case; Zackly and Erwin doing most of the talking after Eren had said his part.

But when they had finished, Zackly said, “I'd like to speak to Eren alone.”

To Eren’s surprise Levi and Erwin got up right away; it was Zeke that hovered nearby until Zackly frowned him out of the room.

There was something very final and heavy about the way the oak door clicked shut.

“Do you know anyone that would have wanted to hurt her, Eren?” Zackly asked in a gentle voice. They had covered this already; Eren had said no. But he didn’t mind Zackly asking him again, alone; he liked him better for it.

“No,” Eren said, shaking his head. “She didn’t have enemies! Everyone liked her...well, _tolerated_ her, anyway. I just...she always told me how important it was to keep a low profile. Not to be noticed. That was how she lived. That was who she was.”

Zackly nodded, without surprise, fingering some papers on his desk. “The coroner’s report makes it clear it was a heart attack,” he said. “I believe you,” when Eren started to protest. “But the facts of the case...it tells us some things, eh?”

“Like...what?”

“It wasn’t a random killing. Whoever killed her didn’t want any notice or acclaim; they wanted the death to go _unnoticed_. And what was the motivation. Not robbery. Revenge?”

Eren sighed. “Revenge for what? She was...Mada!” He thought better of saying something like ‘even her boyfriends weren’t jealous of each other!’--considering his audience--but it was the truth.

“I knew her for a long time, you know,” Zackly said in a sad low voice, and Eren looked up.

“You did? I thought…”

“We knew each other when we were young. Same village. Well, she was older than me...recently we reconnected. After my wife...well, you’re not interested in all that.” He looked down at the folder on his desk, turned it over and sighed. 

“How do you like your post?”

“Uh…”

“In the North,” Zackly clarified. “Mada Tallisa pushed hard for that. She thought the world of you, you know. She was very proud. Like the son she never had.”

“She…” Eren struggled to find words. “I knew her for a long time, too,” he said finally. “She knew my mother when she was a little girl. She was kind of like her godmother, and after my mother died...she sort of kept an eye on me.”

“She was a kind woman…”

“I saw her...I haven’t seen her since Christmas,” Eren realized with a dull sinking ache.

“Never mind that,” Zackly said, gentle but firm, and Eren looked at him, surprised. “There’s no reason to feel guilty, Eren. She was proud of you. Of the work you were doing.”

“It’s good work,” Eren said, sure of that at least. “I--thank you, for helping me. Before.”

“Well,” Zackly smiled faintly. “At the time I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice.”

Eren flushed slightly, and Zackly leaned back in his chair, folding his hands ponderously over his stomach. 

“You’re happy up there? You enjoy the work?” His voice had changed, becoming brusque and businesslike, grief put aside for the moment.

Eren nodded. “I’m very happy…”

“Because there was talk, at one time, of sending you to the military college; officer training...it’s still an option you know. You don’t need to feel as if that’s your only path.”

“I...thank you, but I really am happy where I am,” Eren said, unable to hide his alarm.

Zackly smiled. “Well, just an idea,” he said. “Think about it, anyway.”

Eren nodded reluctantly. “Sir...will you be able to find who did this to her?”

“I’ll tell you one thing, Eren. I won’t stop looking.”

 

 

 

 

When he came out of Zackly’s office the little reception area was deserted. He looked around in an indifferent way, and then his stomach growled--reminding him he hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before. There had been a cafe in the lobby, hadn’t there? He left, heading for the elevators, not troubled about Levi; Levi would find him, and if he had more important things to do then he’d meet him back at Mada’s apartment later.

He supposed, dully, that there would be a funeral to arrange...a coffin to pick out, maybe. That was how it happened on tv. He couldn’t stomach the idea of Mada in a coffin at all; it was enough to make him rethink finding lunch.

As he stepped onto the elevator a familiar voice called out; “Wait, hold up!” A young man’s voice, and Eren stuck a hand out between the doors automatically.

“Thanks!” the cheerful voice said, and then, “Eren!”

Eren blinked--but he recognized Devon far more easily than he had recognized Zeke. Devon had been part of that select group he’d been introduced to back in the summer, that weekend he and Levi had been called to the city; it felt like seven lifetimes ago. “Devon,” he said, as the freckled boy embraced him. 

“What are you doing in town? You should have told us you were coming. Everybody’s been wondering about you!”

“I…” Eren said. “Sorry. I really haven’t been back in a while...I didn’t know I was coming. A friend of mine passed away suddenly…”

“Oh,” Devon said, his expression changing at once; but to Eren’s surprise he didn’t look chagrined or concerned as much as...fearful. “Someone at the college?”

“No...no. An older woman. An old family friend.”

“Oh,” Devon said; now he looked both relieved and sorry. “I’m sorry, Eren. That’s too bad. A close friend?”

“Yes, but--” Later he would realize how refined his odd empathic magic had become, to guide him here; to be able to read someone he knew hardly at all so well. But for now he was only a bloodhound on the scent; “Why did you think it was someone our age, Dev?”

“Oh--” there it was again, the fearful look was back. Devon plucked at the strap of his bookbag, and Eren said, “Have you had lunch yet? I was just going to go and get something to eat.”

“I--sure, Eren,” Devon said, looking up and smiling--only a little forced. 

 

 

 

 

They ordered a couple of sandwiches and iced coffees and found a table in the crowded atrium, although Devon had to shoulder aside a couple of girls to do it. Eren watched him claim the table from a safe distance--behind a trashcan--as the girls gave Devon a sour look he cheerfully ignored. He was slightly mortified, but not enough to intercede; he was too curious about what Devon was going to say. The girls moved on, and he picked up the coffees and made his way over to the table.

“So,” Eren said, after a few perfunctory bites, “What’s been going on?”

Devon hesitated but only for a moment--Eren was starting to recall he’d been the gossip hound in his group of friends; if you wanted dirt on anybody you went to Devon.

“Well,” he said, dropping his voice down. “A while back--I think it was last spring? I can’t really remember, exactly--a girl went AWOL.”

“Oh?” Eren said, feeling an odd tingling; that reminded him of something he couldn’t place just at the moment. “A cadet?”

“Yeah, it happens sometimes--people go on a drunken bender or they decide to go on a road trip--whatever. Only this one never turned up.”

“What was her name?”

“Ymir Maia,” Devon said, taking a bite of his sandwich.

Ymir...that was the name of Historia’s missing girlfriend.

“But still, no one really thought much of it--maybe she just decided she’d had enough and went home? Fuck the proper channels, y’know? I didn’t know her, but she was supposed to be a little strange. Not really military material. But then--” Devon’s voice dropped an octave, “A few months ago--last fall--two more people went missing.”

“Two more...cadets?”

Devon nodded emphatically. “And these were top students! They were _friends_ too--shit, you never saw one without the other! They went missing within a few weeks of each other.” Devon took a long sip of his iced coffee, looking away--this was the crux of it, this was what was really troubling him, Eren thought. Devon put the coffee aside and looked back at him. 

“Then--right around New Year’s another girl went missing. Annie Leonhart.”

Eren blinked because that name was familiar-- “She was in the group we were in, back in the summer, wasn’t she?” He vaguely remembered a blonde girl--pretty in a tough way, always slightly apart from the others. Superior.

Devon nodded sombrely. “Not all the time. She’d hardly ever hang out with us, but she was in our classes.”

“And no one’s found anything? Nothing--no one’s turned up?”

“No!” Devon said, shaking his head. “It’s fucking _crazy_. People were terrified, especially after Annie went missing--they issued directives, even, not to walk alone on campus...but then nothing else happened. It’s been quiet since.”

“Did they--who were the other two? You said they were friends?”

“Reiner and Bertolt. Yeah.”

“Were all four of them friends?”

Devon shrugged. “I don’t know about Annie and them--but I think Ymir was supposed to be a loner. They didn’t run in the same circles.”

“The military command must be investigating it though.”

“Well, yeah,” Devon said. “But you think they’d tell _us_ anything? Not freaking likely.” He dropped his voice down again. _“I_ think it was a fucking serial killer, man.”

Eren scoffed, and Devon carried on, holding his hands out palm-first, “Nah, man--hear me out. Who’s going to mess with four people with _military_ training? And not just random assholes--I don’t know about Ymir, but Reiner and Bertolt and Annie were good fighters. None of them was dumb enough to just walk drunk into the river on a snowy night like most of the idiots around here who go missing--and anyway, they dredged the river--and it wouldn’t have been some random gangbaner, you know? They could have kicked the ass of like 99% of the people out there...more probably.

“Nah, man, I’m telling you--only another military person makes sense. Had to be. Someone with the same training they had.”

“Unless they left on their own.”

But now Devon scoffed; “All four of them? Just decide to disappear? I don’t think so, man. Too weird. There’s definitely foul play.”

“Jeez,” Eren said. “I didn’t know about any of this.”

“Well...I guess you don’t hear much, all the way up where you are. And I think the brass is trying to keep it quiet...there’s been nothing about four cadets going missing in the papers, I can tell you that.”

“You’d think they’d want to get the word out.”

“Not if it’s a cover-up,” Devon said grimly, and Eren shook his head a little. As shocking as his story was he didn’t think it could be the explanation. He tried to remember if Devon had been a conspiracy theorist when he’d last seen him, but he couldn’t...what a long time ago last summer seemed now.

He stayed talking to Devon for another half hour but they’d covered the only part that interested him; the rest of what Devon had to say was gossip about people he didn’t know and crackpot conspiracy theories. He was trying to think of a polite way to excuse himself when Devon said--too casually-- “How’s the battleax? Heard he was giving your Commander a hard time back in the fall.”

 _That_ raised up all Eren’s wariness. “About what?” he said carefully.

Devon shrugged--still all too casual he said, “I didn’t really hear. How do you like it up there, anyway?”

 _He’s probing,_ Eren thought, worried and suspicious, _but for what?_ He hadn’t done a read of intentions under these circumstances before--in public, out of the North, in a loud and crowded room. It wasn’t _wise._ But he did it anyway, almost compulsively, and what he found out was so disconcerting he was ready to swear off ever doing them again;

Devon had no interest in Levi at all. He was just making conversation. He was interested in _him, Eren!_ As in, _interested, interested!_

Too weirded out to remember what Devon’s last question had been he mumbled something about needing to get back and stood up to go; Devon looked a little disappointed but said he had to get to his next class anyway.

“Let us know the next time you’re in town, hey? And sorry about your friend.”

Eren nodded--mumbled thanks--made his hasty way to the exit. _Devon!_ he thought, out in the cool, fresh air. A little breeze came and pressed against his flushed face as if in sympathy. What! How! Was he giving off non-straight vibes now? He had mostly resigned himself to being whatever he was, but it was still an odd feeling--knowing that someone was interested in you that you couldn’t have been _less_ interested in.

 _God, I hope that’s not what Levi thinks about me,_ he thought uncomfortably. _I hope Levi doesn’t know_ anything _about me._ He was ridiculously glad that Levi had explicitly told him once he didn’t do reads; that it was outside his skillset.

He took the train back to Mada’s place, his brain uneasily occupied with thoughts of death and disappearances and serial killers and unwanted--though diffident--advances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is loved!


	6. September (with apologies to March)

When Levi arrived back at the house it was curiously silent. 

So. Eren had gone, then. And that was good; that was what he had…

There was a ringing finality to it; a different feeling. A summer house shut up after the family had all gone. Silence. A tomb.

_Foolishness,_ he thought nastily, silencing the inner voice. 

The coatrack didn’t reproach him; it only slunk around like a kicked dog, but he was too preoccupied with his own trouble to spare any guilt. 

He felt like one of those wax fetish dolls they sold at the market, the kind held together with pins; you tossed them into the fire, and when the wax had all melted you read the pattern the pins left behind.

Fortune telling. If he’d been any good at that he could have found a different line of work. He dragged himself upstairs to his room.

The weeks passed and he tried to carry on the way he had before; Eren hadn’t been with him so very long, after all, that he should have forgotten how to be alone.

The day of the market came and went, and he returned to the house with those purchases he had not intended to make; the ticks, the new watch, the three seconds. 

He put them all into his sock drawer, and the steel faceplate of the new watch stared up at him. He pulled some socks over it and went and sat on the bed.

It wasn’t about forgiveness. It wasn’t even about Eren saving his life. It was the violation; that wasn’t something he could get past.

_Why did you buy him the watch, then?_ the sarcastic inner voice asked.

 

 

 

 

There was a stack of letters waiting and he opened them in his office, the sun setting behind his left shoulder. His back ached from moving the boundary stones all afternoon; it was a much harder task without a second person. His face was still sweat-streaked and grimy with dust, but somehow he hadn’t been able to make the climb up the stairs when he’d gotten home. He would bathe later; what difference did it make, after all? 

The first letter was from Erwin and he read it twice in confusion before going on to the next one, which was from Hanji. Halfway through he put it aside with a frown and rifled through the others; one from Zackly, one from Mike, and the last…

Was from Eren.

He stared at it a moment before picking it up and breaking the seal. Then he read it. Then he put it aside. He picked up Erwin’s letter, which made a little more sense now; reading Zackly’s made all clear. 

He picked up Eren’s letter, read it again. He didn’t know that he was smiling. When the coatrack tiptoed in with a glass of something and left it by his elbow he drank without tasting it.

The letter was almost obscene in its servility; the line about Eren’s promised obedience actually made him laugh out loud.

_No,_ he thought, pushing the pile of letters aside and going to stand before the window. The sun was nearly gone. He was still smiling. He felt lighthearted, as though he had finally shaken the last of a long and lingering illness. _The leopard does not change its spots._

There was something in his hand and he glanced down almost surprised to see Eren’s letter; he was still holding it, he had not shoved it aside with the others.

Was there any sense in denying that he was as eager for Eren to return as Eren apparently was to come back? That he felt like a child, waiting for Christmas…

The flash of the steel watch in his drawer upstairs; Eren’s face; the train that would bring him back...the projects he had been putting off because of his own indolence, the things he had still yet to teach Eren, the promise of so much yet to come…

He fingered the edges of the letter, absently rotating it in his hands, then he returned to the desk and sat down, to write out his answers.


	7. Funeral Rites

In the end he needn’t have worried about Mada’s funeral; Zackly tactfully took the reigns, asking if he didn’t think Mada would have wanted a traditional service? Eren agreed in a muddling way; he didn’t know anything about traditional services, only that they were more or less banned, allowed by special permit…

But of course Zackly had no trouble acquiring a permit. 

He asked Eren’s opinion on just enough to make him feel useful. Eren didn’t care about being consulted, and he trusted Zackly. But being asked made him feel as if he were contributing in a small way, though it did little to absolve him of his nebulous guilt.

Mada had left a simple, straightforward will as Zackly had predicted. She left her possessions to Eren, told him to take whatever he liked and donate the rest.

Levi helped him box it all up, but it was hard...hard to dismantle Mada’s things. Hard to see her life reduced to a pile of cardboard boxes in the middle of an empty apartment.

Eren spent a lot of time wandering from room to room with a stricken look on his face, unable to remember what he had been doing. Occasionally the phone would ring, and Eren would abstractedly give Zackly his opinions on music and refreshments before barrelling on to ask if any progress had been made into the investigation; the answer was always the same, delivered in Zackly’s kind, patient voice:

“No, Eren. Not yet.”

“I should go by the house and get my suit,” Eren mumbled at one point. He was carrying around a handful of tea towels in varying sizes--he had been carrying them around for the last 45 minutes, while Levi steadily worked his way through Mada’s cookbooks.

“Why wouldn’t you wear your uniform?” Levi asked, and Eren blinked at him. Yes--his uniform, of course, he _was_ a member of the Survey Corp. That would be the properest thing.

In the North they almost never donned the full uniforms. Levi had two basic outfits--his country-squire-in-retirement riding boots and trousers and white shirt, and a collection of interchangeable black shirts and pants that he wore around the house. Eren had come to think that the extraordinary dressing gowns (he didn’t think he had ever seen Levi in the same one twice) were the house’s way of expressing displeasure--or disapproval--at his otherwise unchanging attire.

But--

“It’s in the North,” he muttered. “My uniform. I didn’t bring it.”

“So? HQ is right here. I’ll have another one brought over for you.”

Eren gave him a relieved, grateful look. Levi nodded just as if he had spoken and went on boxing up cookbooks.

Eren collapsed onto the couch, the tea towels falling into his lap, and stared morosely at the wall. There was a plastic screech as Levi taped up another box and shoved it neatly into the center of the room with the others.

Then Eren sat bolt upright and said, “Cibo!”

“Huh?” Levi said, looking at him, tape gun still held in one hand.

“Cibo! Mada’s cat!” Eren looked around the room frantically, but of course Cibo wasn’t here--they would have seen him by now if he’d been anywhere in the apartment. He vaulted off the couch and ran to open the window by the fire escape, sticking his head out.

“Cibo!” he called, with hopeless optimism, but no cat came running. He went into the kitchen and found a tin of salmon, opened it and placed it on the windowsill.

“Levi,” he said, “if we took Cibo to the North…” he trailed off; Levi was watching him calmly. “If we can find him.” He sighed. “If we took him to the North--he wouldn’t be a regular cat anymore. Would he? Would he be like those cats at the party we went to--on Christmas Eve?

“If he could talk--he might know what happened to Mada. He might be able to tell us.”

 

 

 

Eren had called Mikasa to tell her Mada had died; in a dull voice he told her about the arrangements, told her he was staying at Mada’s apartment with Levi while they cleaned up, and they planned to go back to the North the day after the funeral.

He ignored her attempts to console him--she had a lot to say but he didn’t hear any of it, just stared at the kitchen clock waiting for a pause so he could tell her he had to go.

_Hello Mikasa, Yes Mikasa, No Mikasa, Don’t try to pretend you’re sorry Mada’s dead, Mikasa, you never liked her anyway._

That was an evil thought--even given his anger at her for what had happened at Jean’s party over Christmas. He hadn’t seen her since, and though she’d written him (sending along his Christmas present) he’d never gotten around to responding…

They hadn’t patched things up, and he supposed that was on him. He hadn’t wanted to.

But even so Mikasa had spread the word, she’d done right by him and he was grateful for that, and even a little guilty.

It was a few minutes after midnight; the night of Mada’s funeral. They had launched her body in a boat on the river and he had asked Levi to shoot the arrow that would set it ablaze.

(He had done a little archery in the North but not enough to be sure of his shot; he didn’t want to embarrass himself with a missed attempt.)

Levi let loose the arrow. All his friends were here, and all Mada’s (hundreds of them!), and he stood close to the shore with Armin and Mikasa and Jean and the others; each of them held a candle alight and it made the night beautiful. Hundreds of pinpricks of light, reflecting on the river, a thousand tiny stars.

As the boat that held Mada’s body caught fire they set the candles afloat in the river, in little paper boats.

Zackly began to sing, which startled Eren. It was some old song, something he’d never heard before--he didn’t even know what language it was in. It had to be another pre-purge relic (like everything here tonight) but to his further surprise there were many here that _did_ know the words. All the Squad Leaders sang (they were all here) including Levi, of course, and Eren felt a tiny thrill of pleasure at hearing him sing again, in spite of the circumstances. Also-- _Sasha,_ of all people!

Afterwards there was drinking and dancing along the river--a true pagan repast. Someone had cast a spell on the little paper boats ensuring they would stay alight until dawn, before dispersing, leaving no trace behind. Mada’s boat--similarly spelled--had already burned out, ashes even now being carried away downstream. 

Eren had wandered away from the others. He didn’t mind the music or the dancing; he knew Mada would have liked it. She’d been a great lover of parties, as well as alcohol...and music...and men…  
Armin came up beside him. “Hey,” he said, nodding at Eren.

Eren returned the nod wanly.

“I was sort of hoping Historia would be here,” Armin said with a little sigh.

Eren looked around in a little surprise; “She’s not?” Only then did he realize--no. He hadn’t seen her with the others earlier in the evening; he had just assumed she was there.

Armin shook his head. “You haven’t heard from her, have you?”

“Not...recently,” he said.

“No one has, that I can tell,” Armin said.

Eren frowned. “That’s not so unusual, though…” Historia had a small stipend paid out by a family trust; it gave her a measure of freedom, and it wasn’t odd for her to disappear for a few weeks when she got tired of the city. 

“No,” Armin agreed, but it didn’t sound like he was agreeing. 

Eren frowned, and Armin abruptly changed the subject, “You’re going back tomorrow? That’s what Mikasa said.”

“Yeah. We’ve already been here a few days...Levi doesn’t like to leave the North for this long…”

Armin nodded, and again Eren had that sense of something unsaid.

But Armin just glanced over at him, and said, “How’s the sword?”

Eren grinned then--real and genuine. “Great,” he said. “I don’t know how you found it, but it’s a treasure, Armin. Thanks. It’s perfect. Levi thinks it’s a Sol Soldere too--or at least one of his students. We still haven’t found any mention of it though, and Mike even checked the library at the Southern Gate. I--”

“Hey,” Mikasa said, coming up behind them. She looked a little sheepish; Eren sighed inwardly. 

“Did you tell him?” Mikasa asked Armin.

Armin looked worried; “Tell me what?” Eren said.

“I joined the Survey Corp.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending. 

“I started the January term at the Military College,” Mikasa continued.

 _“Why?”_ Eren spat out. “You hate the Survey Corp! You think we’re a bunch of idiots who throw our lives away!”

She gave him the look he hated--the one that said, _You may be an idiot, but you’re my idiot._ The one she’d given him as long as he’d known her, the one she’d given him every time she’d rescued him from the latest scrape.

But he wasn’t in a scrape now; he was an adult, he could take care of himself and he didn’t need _Mikasa_ to come tearing after him as if he were still twelve years old. 

“What about your _career?”_ he said.

She frowned a little, but she replied gamely, “I can teach in the Military.”

Eren shook his head. To Armin he said, “I hope you at least tried to talk her out of it.” Then he walked away from both of them, disappearing into the crowd. Mikasa called after him, but he used a little of his magic to make himself _unseen_ and kept walking, further out; the funeral had taken place near a public park and he headed there. Away from the lights and music. 

Just as he was about to pass through the iron gate he felt a touch at his elbow, and he turned with ferocity; Mikasa shouldn’t have even been able to _see_ him like this!

But it was Levi. “All right?” Levi asked, and Eren was weirdly touched to think that he must have seen him walk away--in spite of the spell. And he had come after him. His anger evaporating, all he could do was nod.

Levi...didn’t turn away. Didn’t say anything, but didn’t turn away, and like a key turning the tumbler in a lock Eren saw…

He put his arms around Levi, and Levi let him, more than let him. He held him back. It’s the first time this has happened in...he can’t remember. Can only think how good it is. Levi is like granite in the best of all ways; if you can’t believe in anything else, you can believe in Levi.

 _Atlas holding up the world,_ he thought, and was utterly mortified when he heard Levi’s voice back in his head,

_You’re getting all Jung-ian on me again._

Mentally he yanked himself back with a stammered apology--but not far enough to miss Levi’s amusement.

A little more slowly Eren untangled himself physically, making about a thousand mental notes that he was going to have to be more careful in the future. Apparently their little magical connection has gotten out of hand if so much can be (unintentionally!) transmitted with the amplification of physical contact.

Before he could say (or do) anything else stupid, Levi said casually, “Your cat’s back.”

“Cibo! How do you know?”

“I set a spell before we left,” Levi said. “We can go now, if you want.” 

He knew that Levi didn’t just mean back to Mada’s apartment, and he was relieved. _Yes; let’s go._ This place wasn’t home any more. Every visit back only made that clearer.

He looked back at the river, at the party still in progress; he nodded, and they walked through the gate of the park side by side.

“Did you know Mikasa joined the Survey Corp?” he asked suddenly.

Levi gave him a surprised look; no, obviously he hadn’t. Eren felt himself relax a little--to know that Levi hadn’t avoided--or forgotten--to tell him.

“She doesn’t think I can take care of myself,” he added bitterly.

Levi smiled faintly.

“What?”

“You remember you asked me why Erwin hasn’t done anything yet. About our...situation last summer.”

 _And them thinking I was a succubus,_ Eren thought, kicking at a rock, the memory not improving his mood. “Yeah.”

“It’s because--apart from me--there’s only one person that can hold the North.”

“Who?” Eren said, a little surprised. “Only one?” Hanji, Mike, or Erwin? Probably Erwin, then--he was the strongest magician, wasn’t he?

But then, that did make a kind of sense--even apart from his friendship with Levi, there was the practical consideration: Erwin probably wouldn’t want to leave his own Gate, and have to find a replacement just so he could go and guard the North.

“Things haven’t been improving,” Levi said. “The Gate is getting harder to hold. And the North is cantankerous.”

Eren nodded vaguely, wondering why Levi was still smiling; he did know--in a mostly academic sense--that the North wasn’t like the other gates.

“Is it Erwin?”

Levi laughed, making Eren jerk his head up in surprise.

“No,” he said. “The North turned him down a long time ago.”

“I--” _He’s talking about you, idiot._ Eren stopped dead and stared at Levi--in wide, wild-eyed disbelief.

Levi was--you could only call it grinning.

“I can’t--!” There had to be a mistake. _Oh? Is Levi mistaken, then? Or is it the North?_ a sardonic inner voice asked.

They had reached a little footbridge over an ornamental pond; with ironic gallantry--as if misunderstanding the reason for Eren’s pause--Levi took his hand to lead him over.

“Heavy lies the crown,” he said, with a good humor that Eren found _wildly_ inappropriate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3333 feedback! <3333


	8. The Colony of Cats

 

 

 

 

Eren was wheeling a bicycle out from the garden shed when he heard Levi’s voice.

“Eren?” he called from an open window on the second floor. A cloud of smoke billowed past him, and Eren cried back in alarm,

“What’s that smoke?”

“Nothing good,” Levi replied darkly. “Are you on your way to Lord Macka’s?”

“I--was. Do you need me?”

“No. I was going to ask you the same question.”

Eren laughed. “No. I know the way. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Levi waved him off and disappeared from the window. From inside Eren heard the unmistakabley outraged cries of the blue heron and he grinned. He got on the bicycle--he’d gotten it secondhand, at the first spring market--today was the first day he’d dared ride it. The snow was finally (mostly) melting.

After Mada’s funeral he and Levi had brought Cibo back (in a wicker basket--the same one Mada had used to bring him to the vet). Eren had opened the basket on the white stone driveway and stepped back hopefully. Cibo had emerged with a languid stretch--yawned--and stepped delicately onto the ground. He had looked around, apparently unsurprised at his new surroundings, and had immediately wandered away. 

“He didn’t look like the other cats we saw…” Eren had said worriedly.

“Give it a few days,” Levi advised before going into the house. 

It had taken the better part of two weeks for Eren to hear anything. He was worried he’d made a mistake bringing Cibo back--that some forest-dwelling monster might have eaten him before he could even make it to Lord Macka’s. 

And when a letter did finally arrive it had come not from Cibo (which would have--Eren had to admit--been a little weird) but from Lord Macka himself. There was no mention of Cibo; just an invitation for him to come and play tennis, any day next week.

“Tennis,” Eren said despairingly, looking over at Levi.

“Lord Macka is discreet,” Levi said, not looking up from his newspaper. “He probably wants to ask you about Cibo, but isn’t going to come right out and say it.”

Eren groaned. “I hope he’s _there._ I hope something didn’t eat him. And I don’t know how to play tennis!”

“Well, in that case…” Levi said, setting aside his newspaper.

And in the span of only a few days, Eren went from being completely unable to play tennis to being completely horrible at tennis. 

 

 

 

 

Lord Macka’s estate was a quasi-independent Northern territory. It had its own _weather_. It was warmer there than in Eren’s part of the North, and today it felt like a hot day in May. He had to take off his winter coat, and drape it over the handlebars as he pushed his bike up the hilly country roads. 

Underneath that, he was wearing a tennis costume straight out of the 1920s. Levi had insisted.

“You’re going in response to an invitation, not on Gatekeeper business,” he’d replied when Eren had complained.

“Can’t I just wear regular clothes?” Eren had asked, holding up the white sweater with disdain. “This is ridiculous.”

“That isn’t how they do things,” Levi had replied drily.

Eren--approaching the house now--saw Levi hadn’t been kidding. There were lady cats wearing long gowns on the lawn, being attended by gentleman cats in linen suits. A dozen or more in all. They regarded him coolly, and he was suddenly glad Levi had made him wear the tennis whites.

_No one can make you feel like an asshole quite like a cat can,_ Mada had remarked once...and she had just been talking about the regular kind.

They had stopped their croquet game to watch him. He was starting to sweat. _Who the hell am I supposed to even talk to?_ he wondered, suddenly afraid of breaking some arcane cattish rule of etiquette, and wishing he had asked Levi to come along after all. The night of the Christmas party--his only visit here--was a blur, and he didn’t even know what Lord Macka _looked_ like.

He was in hallo-ing distance now and they were all still staring--with catty hauteur--but before he could offend them all even more by speaking, instead of merely existing, a figure emerged from the house. She stepped out from open French doors onto the patio, one smartly-heeled foot alighting on the lawn, a hand outreached in greeting.

“Eren!” she said in pleasure. It took him a moment to recognize her--she was the calico from the Christmas party, the one who had been his partner at cards. If only he could remember her _name_. The croquet players resumed their game as if nothing had happened, and she held out her hand (paw?) to him, which he took a little hesitantly.

“It’s nice to see you again…”

“Nina!” she supplied quickly. “I always think Cottonina is such a mouthful. Nina, please. It’s what my friends call me.” Her tail swished, and before he could think of what to say next another cat emerged from the house--as if he had been waiting for a dramatic moment. He was a tall, white cat built on ample lines. Seeing him, Nina’s mouth twitched--it might have been a grimace, or the beginning of a snarl--but the other cat only grinned as he sauntered over.

Eren studied him. “Cibo?” he asked cautiously.

“Eren!” Cibo said, embracing him like a brother. It was one of the stranger moments of Eren’s life, and that was saying something.

“Cibo...you look...great!” Eren said, falling back on platitudes (as he goggled at Cibo’s rather shockingly loud brown and orange plaid suit). But...Cibo!

Cibo grinned more widely, as if he knew exactly what Eren was thinking. It was strangely disquieting, and he was glad he’d always been nice to Mada’s cat. But even so…!

Nina’s tail twitched as she looked between them, somewhat mollified. “Mr. Cibo...I didn’t know you knew Eren,” she said slowly.

“Oh,” Eren said--this at least he could do without confusion; bro code covered this. One wink from Cibo had made all clear. “Cibo’s one of my oldest friends. We knew each other back in the city.”

“Oh…” Nina said slowly. Another twitch. “The city?”

“I lived with a witch there,” Cibo said modestly. “She passed away, unexpectedly...a few weeks ago. There was nothing to keep me in the city...so Eren offered to bring me up here.”

“That’s right,” Eren said, bemused by this alternate accounting of events. “Mada Tallisa...she was like a mother to me. That’s why I’m here, actually…”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Nina said with compassion. “How awful! Of course you two will have a lot to catch up on.” She excused herself, walking off to join the others at croquet; as soon as she was gone Cibo let out a long contented sigh.

“My friend,” he said, gripping Eren’s forearm, claws carefully retracted. “You’ll be best man at my wedding.”

Eren grinned involuntarily. “I don’t think you’re there yet. She didn’t seem too pleased to see you at first.”

“Oh, you’ve turned that ship around, old man,” Cibo said, taking him firmly by the elbow. “Come on, let’s walk.”

“Cibo...you do know why I’m here? Why I brought you here?”

Cibo nodded. They were coming around the side of the house, and there was a maze in back. Cibo headed straight towards it with a long loping stride that had Eren hurrying to catch up.

“You want to know if I know who killed Mada.”

“Do you?”

Cibo shook his head, motioning Eren into the maze ahead of him. “I’m sorry, Eren. I wasn’t there. She was gone when I got back.”

Eren sighed, long and slow. He hadn’t realized how much hope he’d pinned on this meeting. There was a bench along one side of the maze and he dropped into it; Cibo settled down beside him.

“You don’t have any idea? No one she’d argued with? No one suspicious hanging around?”

Cibo shook his head. “Whoever they were, they had never been to the apartment before. No one I’d smelled before. But I can tell you one thing--they were military.”

“Military?!” Eren repeated, sitting bolt upright. Wildly, he thought of Zackly--had he been wrong about the old man!? But then he remembered with a guilty start that Cibo had just told him it was no one he knew. And Zackly had been to Mada’s apartment plenty of times…

“You all have a distinctive smell. Guns and oil, I suppose.”

“Would you recognize them again?”

“Oh yes,” Cibo said darkly. 

“Was it--could you tell anything else?”

“A man, certainly,” Cibo said consideringly, after a short pause. “And not too old. A little older than you, maybe. And--” hear Cibo did what was not quite a shudder-- “Old magic.”

“Old magic?” Eren repeated in confusion. “You mean, like--from the Old Continent? That kind of magic?”

Cibo nodded emphatically. 

“You’re sure?”

“Certain,” Cibo said.

“Well--that’s something. We should be able to narrow it down with that. Thanks, Cibo.” Eren got up, and Cibo’s arm darted out to stop him.

“You can’t leave!” he said.

“Cibo, I’m terrible at tennis! I only came to see how you were, and what you knew.”

“It would be a dreadful insult to Lord Macka,” Cibo said reproachfully. “Besides, I told him I knew you; he thinks very highly of you and the Gatekeeper. I expect you to put in a good word for me.”

Eren gave him an aggrieved look and Cibo only smiled back, tail twitching in satisfaction. “Cottonina is his _daughter._ His only daughter, I might add. Come along, Eren, tennis courts are thataway.”

 

 

 

 

It was near sunset before Eren was finally able to extract himself, and they had wanted him to stay to dinner. He had begged off--first pointing out he had no dinner clothes (clothes were very important to cats, he was learning) and then when they offered to let him borrow some insisting that Levi needed him.

He had a rotten suspicion that both Lord Macka and Cottonina thought that _he_ was a more suitable candidate for marriage than Cibo (or any of the other cats, come to that). And he could just imagine what Levi would have to say if he came home accidentally engaged to a cat…

Cibo had taken it all in stride; he seemed confident that his plans were going to work out, that it was only a matter of time before he was lovingly accepted. Eren wasn’t so sure. From what he could tell Lord Macka’s elegant, aristocratic cats regarded him as a gauche and unworthy interloper.

He had enough intrigues already without adding cat intrigues, and--

His bike slid on a patch of wet leaves, newly revealed by the melting snow. It skidded out from under him: “Shit!” he yelled, tumbling over and over. The bike had gone right off the edge of a hill, and he landed scraped and bruised at the bottom, with an ‘oomph!’ as the wind was knocked out of him.

Eventually he rolled over--the bike had landed some distance away. The front wheel was hopelessly bent.

“God damn it,” he said, aggrieved, more annoyed by the loss of the bike (and the several weeks’ pay it represented) than the damage to himself. He sat up (wincing a little) and scowled.

Was there any sense in dragging the bike along with him as he walked back? He couldn’t ride it now. And it was almost full dark.

_Damn it._

No, probably not. He gave the bike one last long sour look and began climbing up to where he’d fallen off the road--he’d landed in a kind of ravine.

But when he got to the top the road was just--gone.

 

 

 

 

He had been wandering for long enough--hopelessly lost--that he was beginning to worry. It was just creeping in, little cold fingers at the edge of your mind. The spook you took when you suddenly caught your reflection and thought it was a stranger. 

And--

_Where’s Levi? Why hasn’t he found me yet?_

He was sweating and cold--he’d lost his coat when he’d fallen off the bike, and he hadn’t noticed until it had been too late to go back. Maybe Levi didn’t know he was lost, or maybe this was some kind of test. But it was dark now; he didn’t know where he was or how to get back (something he would have said was impossible this afternoon) and in spite of the lies he was telling himself he was starting to become afraid.

And then he found it--the path! He was so relieved he could have fallen to the ground and kissed the dirt but he didn’t; just laughed a little at himself, his own absurd anxiety before quickening his pace.

And he had gone a mile or more before he realized this was no path he knew; that this was nowhere he’d ever been before and he still didn’t know where he was.

He stopped--wretched and frozen and really frightened now--

That was when the Stranger found him on the path, a man with no face. But then Eren saw--no, he had a face, a handsome face--why had he ever thought the man had no face?

While he was still puzzling over this the man spoke to him in a kindly way. 

“Are you lost? Can I help you?” his voice was pleasant and low.

“I--I’m just trying to get back to the Gatekeeper’s house,” Eren said, feeling deeply foolish.

“You look as though you had a fall,” the man said. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Eren said, glancing down at himself, mortified anew. The man was right; he was _filthy,_ the tennis whites were grimy and black with mud, and dead leaves still clung to him. He brushed at them ineffectually. God, what would Levi say when he saw him…

“I’m sure he won’t mind...more than likely he’ll just be happy you’re back safe…”

_And glad he didn’t have to come and rescue me_ again, Eren thought unhappily, still brushing at the leaves and caked on mud. _Wondering how on earth you could have gotten into so much trouble playing tennis, for God’s sake…_

“This way,” the man said, and he showed Eren another path, one he hadn’t seen before. “Just follow it straight back; you aren’t so far.”

“Oh,” Eren said, deeply relieved. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

By the time Eren had reached the house he had forgotten he had met anyone at all; all he could remember was being hopelessly lost and then stumbling over the path back to the house.

_Lucky idiot,_ he told himself unhappily as he came into the kitchen through the back door. 

Levi was there cooking dinner; the kitchen was warm and fragrant with spices, and the blue heron was brooding on a shelf where there should have been canned goods, but somehow this brought none of the comfort it usually did.

Levi did a double-take upon seeing him. “What happened to you?”

“I just slipped on some leaves,” he mumbled, wanting to get away.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said, his embarrassment coming out as haughtiness. He managed to escape; up the stairs and to his room where he showered and changed his clothes. He was feeling a little better when he came down again--but still unusually awkward and clumsy.

Levi was putting the food on plates; some kind of coconut ginger curry and the smell of the food, the feel of the warm plate put into his hands--it unknotted something in him. He stood there, downcast and waiting to be scolded. 

Levi sat down at the table. “How did it go with Cibo?”

“Uh…” Eren blinked a few times. The coat rack came by and placed a drink tray on the table; it patted Eren gently on the shoulder and led him to a chair, as if he were infirm.

Levi seemed to be trying not to smile. Eren shook his head; he felt woefully off-balance tonight.

“It was fine,” he said, sliding into the chair. “He’s all right, he couldn’t tell me much though. He didn’t know who it was. He wasn’t there. He said he thought it was a man...and someone in the military.”

“Hmm,” said Levi. “Anything else?”

“No. That was all he could tell me.”

“Is that all?”

Eren shrugged, hearing the other question. “Just. It was strange seeing Cibo--you know, talking! Wearing a suit! An _ugly_ suit.”

“And?”

“And…” Eren sighed. “He didn’t seem all that upset about Mada. I mean, he did--but he’s trying to marry Lord Macka’s daughter and she won’t give him the time of day. I mean, he’s just plotting away up there like nothing’s wrong, and scheming and trying to get me involved...” It had felt so disloyal; here he was, worrying his grief to death and Cibo was just moving on…

Levi _was_ smiling now. “So you were expecting him to act like something other than a cat?” he asked.

Eren stared at him for a moment, and then he laughed a little guiltily. “I guess I was,” he admitted. He supposed Levi had a point. Cats weren’t exactly known for loyalty and fidelity. In the neighborhood he had lived with Mikasa and Armin there had been a cat that had at least two owners; it went by two different names. And got fed at two different houses. If Cibo was a little fickle and plotting and scheming...well. There really wasn’t anything uncatlike about that.

Eren sighed. “I’m disappointed, I guess. I thought we’d have some answers today.” And it wasn’t Cibo’s fault that he didn’t; he was sure Cibo had told him everything he knew. Something drifted by at the edge of his mind; some thought that disappeared before he could process it. 

_It’s been a long day,_ he thought, rubbing his head. _If it’s important it will come back to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <<<3 feedback <333


	9. Traps & Lures

It was spring, and that meant work; long days (and nights) for both of them. The projects that had been put off because of the weather were now all urgently vying for attention; the idle winter days were past.

Levi didn’t keep as close a watch on Eren as he once had. Eren knew the paths now, and most of the trouble he ran into he could take care of himself. Any problem he couldn’t immediately solve he’d discuss aloud that night with Levi, usually while they made dinner and more often than not he still came to a solution himself, Levi doing little more than ‘hmm’-ing and asking a question or two.

Eren ran into the Stranger several times. He never remembered the encounters afterward; it was as if they stayed in a locked box between each meeting. 

He always met him, the faceless, nameless man (though he _did_ have a face, he always had to remind himself…) when he’d encountered some difficulty. And he was grateful for the advice--it was useful, though sometimes disquieting.

Some things he couldn’t quite bring himself to put into practice. He couldn’t say _why,_ exactly, when the Stranger gently pressed him; but it _felt_ wrong somehow…

If he could have talked to Levi about it…

But that thought disappeared, slippery as a soap bubble.

Eren looked uneasily at the toy chest. It was eerie enough out here--out of place in the forest, almost nothing else around for miles--without even knowing what it was for.

“I just don’t think I can,” he murmured.

“But I told you,” the Stranger said, sounding puzzled; “It won’t hurt them, I promise. And those creatures--they aren’t meant to still be in the world. They fear what they do not understand; better that they should go on to their rest--”

_Levi let them stay. He said they were harmless._

“--than to stay here, and annoy the living.”

Eren rubbed his forehead. He was getting a headache again. He knew the Stranger was right; the villagers here had been complaining about things going missing, mostly things forgotten outside, things left in the rain; garden tools, children’s toys, broken umbrellas. He also knew that their anger came more from being spooked than from the lost things themselves. They didn’t like what the Scavengers represented. They didn't like seeing them juttering around the edge of the village at dusk with their odd irregular gait. Lost souls...spirits dressed in motley, whatever feathers and bones and old gloves and shoes they could find to clothe themselves.

Several of their people had died that spring in sudden flash flooding...at least one of them a child. The villagers were muttering about bad omens…

“Eren. I hesitate to even bring this up, but...if the villagers should catch one of them. Well.” The Stranger coughed delicately. “It would be a quicker, more painless journey this way.”

“I...I need to think about it,” Eren said. 

“Of course,” the Stranger said, bowing, and Eren was alone in the clearing with a toy chest. He had no memory of anyone else being with him, and he knew what the toy chest was for, but…

It unsettled him. _Levi said they were harmless,_ he told himself again. He picked up the chest--it was empty now, and light enough. True, he could have just left it there--even locked it, if he'd been so worried--but he didn’t like the idea of it sitting there. _Waiting,_ somehow. He carried it back to the Gatehouse under one arm, and he was relieved when Levi got home a little while later.

“There’s some Scavengers harassing a village...well, they _say_ they’re harassing them, but…” 

Levi grunted. _Go on_ his expression said; he looked tired. They were in the study, where Eren had waited to ambush him.

“Well, I found a spell,” Eren hurried on. “For trapping them. Helping them...you know.” He shrugged awkwardly. “Move on.”

“What spell?”

“Well...you take a toy chest, and you fill it with things that have been cast off. The kind of things they like. It lures them in, and then…” He pictured it; the lid snapping shut, the Scavenger evaporating in a little flurry of feathers and fabric and someone else’s trash, and he felt queasy.

Levi rubbed his face tiredly. “Thank you,” he said, when the coatrack came in with the teatray. There were sandwiches on it as well as the tea, and Eren found that a little disappointing; it meant no cooking tonight, and Levi would probably go to bed early.

Levi took a sandwich without looking, as the coatrack poured tea into his cup. “Where did you get the things for the toy chest?” he asked.

“Oh...I haven’t done it yet. I was going to...well, if I did do it I thought I might have to make a trip into the city. To a thrift shop, maybe, something like that…”

Levi nodded, taking a bite of his sandwich. “That would work,” he said. “But buying the things would mean you had ownership of them. It would effectively make them your slaves, instead of freeing them.”

Eren blanched.

“Better to wait for garbage day,” Levi continued. “Take things from the curb--things that really have been cast off, intentionally dispossessed.”

“So you think I should do it?” Eren asked, alarmed.

“No,” Levi said. “It’s cruel and inhumane. They may be lost--really lost, without even a memory of who they were in life. But if they choose to cling to life then that is their choice, and we ought to respect it. If you hang the things on a clothesline in the woods--facing away from the village--it will have the same effect. It will lure them away and they’ll move on, and you won’t have to kill them.”

 

 

 

 

In spite of Levi’s solution the conversation had depressed him. Levi did go up to bed early--as soon as he could, Eren thought with a sigh. 

The winter had started off so well, but the spring was the worst he could remember. Ever since Mada’s death he’d been slinking around, unhappiness never very far away. No updates from Zackly, no progress on finding her murderer, nothing for him to do but chip away at the endless pile of work.

And now the Scavengers to worry about.

Levi hadn’t seem bothered by his bringing them up. Did that mean….he had accused Levi, once, of allowing Sirena to become one of them. Levi had been shaken then; he had worried about the same thing. Tonight he had been his usual imperturbable self--was that because he didn’t worry about it anymore?

Though as far as he knew neither one of them had seen her. What had happened to Sirena after Eren’s wish had undone the Titan attack? After Levi had stopped resurrecting her parents. Eren was afraid to bring it up, afraid of what Levi would say. In his heart he didn’t feel as if Sirena was truly gone. Was that intuition, or just wishful thinking?

Was that the source of _his_ reluctance for not wanting to entrap the Scavengers? If one of them was Sirena…

Eren sighed and absently reached for his Tarot; he could shuffle and spread the cards without thinking now. The Ten of Wands was still Levi, although Eren had been promoted. Once he’d been the Page of Swords, but since the new year it was the Knight of Swords that showed up at the Ten of Wands’ side.

Along with a new card, from time to time: the High Priestess. A puzzle: it was clear the deck was referring to a person, not an idea or a symbol. But who? There was no one he knew who could be the High Priestess. He could only assume that the deck was telling him about someone they _would_ be meeting.

Joining them, perhaps. He was uneasy about that. And about the fact that a member of the Major Arcana had appeared...until now, in his use of the deck people had only been represented by Minor Arcana. He hadn’t mentioned any of this to Levi; he knew Levi would only scoff and scold him for ‘messing around with divination.’ 

Hesitantly Eren chose a card; another member of the Major Arcana, although a less unsettling one. A ‘safer’ choice. 

The Sun. It showed a child beneath the sun, a naked child riding on the back of a horse. It was a hopeful, pleasant image. The child reminded him of Sirena.

 _Where is she?_ he asked.

The World, followed by the Wheel of Fortune. More Major Arcana. He leaned back--he’d been relieved to see the World--it meant she was still here. There were many ways the Tarot could represent death, and that wasn’t one of them. But the Wheel of Fortune, that could mean many things too. A journey. An uncertain outcome.

And all Major Arcana. He drummed his fingers on the table. He didn’t think that was coincidence. It meant that Levi had been right in thinking Sirena was important.

 _As if you didn’t already know that,_ he thought, remembering how she had blazed off the Titans. An uncertain future, perhaps, but for now she was safe.

He went back through the deck until he found the Queen of Wands and put it down, inverted. That was how he asked about Mada. So far the deck had been silent when he'd asked about her, but he tried again anyway.

He put the card back in and shuffled, and then he began to draw. The first card that came up was the Ten of Wands; Levi. Then the Knight of Swords; Eren. The mysterious High Priestess again, and he hesitated. Once again the deck had ignored his question about Mada, but he had the feeling it was about to tell him something important. He could feel something, something almost like a hum of electricity as his fingers hovered above the backs of the cards.

He drew. _The Chariot. The Tower._

The High Priestess--she was on the move. And whoever she was, she was coming here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback loved!


	10. Tiger, Tiger

Eren came down to breakfast one morning to find Levi had already gone, but Shaw was there. Shifting from foot to foot in the kitchen, impatiently, as if he’d been waiting for some time. He was holding a large book--though not _The Book of Days and the Book of Nights_.

Shaw’s appearances in the house were still intermittent and irregular, though Eren suspected Levi saw more of him than he did. Sometimes he heard voices in the house. He’d enter a room to find Levi alone, smiling faintly at some piece of furniture--as if, perhaps, a small boy had just ducked behind it. Eren would give Levi an ironic glance, but play along.

But today Shaw seemed to have been waiting for Eren specifically--as he had done on one other occasion. It gave Eren a sinking feeling.

“Shaw? Is something wrong?”

“Look,” Shaw said, seizing this opportunity: he threw the book open and Eren had a quick impression of text and some fine illustrations of animals, followed by blank pages.

“The second half of the story’s missing,” Shaw said, snapping the book closed. “It needs to be finished. I need your help.”

“Uh...okay,” Eren said dubiously.

Shaw brightened at once. “You’ll do it?”

“Uh--sure. I don’t know much about writing stories--”

“But you know about adventures!” Shaw said eagerly. He grabbed Eren by the hand and led him away; Eren was only just able to snatch a croissant from the table in passing.

Shaw dragged Eren to the library and then pressed the book into his hands, forcing him to hold the half-eaten croissant in his teeth. He turned it over: another oversized heavy leather-bound volume, the kind Shaw favored. 

He opened it, turning the first few pages until he found an opening epigraph:

“Tiger, tiger, burning bright--” he said out loud. But before he could even ask who William Blake was the book fell to the ground, open to the exact middle where the story had ended and the blank pages begun. 

Only now there was a new illustration on the facing page.

Shaw--all alone in the library--picked the book up and examined the new picture with satisfaction. Then he snapped it shut and slid it onto a shelf. 

A moment later the coatrack came in, radiating disapproval.

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Shaw said.

The coatrack seemed to glare.

“Don’t _you_ tell him either,” Shaw said, “Or I’ll tell him about the time you almost let me drown in the river.”

The coatrack quivered with some pent up emotion but said nothing (then, it never did). Shaw nodded curtly and left the library, coatrack hopping along behind.

 

 

 

 

Levi came home that evening in a rare and contented mood; it seemed they had finally caught up on the huge backlog winter had left them. It wouldn’t last--it never did--but he was happy. It was as if he had climbed to the top of a high hill and found the horizon unclouded for once, the whole world stretched out before him. 

They could celebrate. He could even ask the coatrack to bring up a bottle of champagne from the basement…

Shaw was sitting in the kitchen table when Levi came in, coloring on a piece of paper. Levi stopped to take his boots off.

“Where’s Eren?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

Levi came over to look at Shaw’s drawing. “Tiger?”

“Mmm,” Shaw said without looking up.

“Staying for dinner?”

“I want a hot dog.”

“Go home if you want hot dogs.”

Shaw made a face at him. “You know I don’t get them there either.”

Levi smiled faintly back; _Do I?_ he asked himself. Shaw always spoke as if Levi was familiar with every aspect of his life.

Shaw put the drawing aside. “I Can Help,” he announced. “What do you need me to do? I can bring things in from the garden!”

“There’s nothing growing yet, Shaw. It’s barely even spring.”

“I can go to the _summer_ garden too,” Shaw said, giving him the look children reserved for foolish grown ups.

“Can you?” Levi wondered aloud. “All right. Go and pick something out, then.”

Shaw came back a while later, dragging an overflowing basket behind him and dropping chives and cherries in his wake. 

Levi examined the harvest. He had put the champagne on ice to chill, and he let Shaw have a small glass. It felt decadent to be eating zucchini and tomatoes and corn so early in the year, he thought, as he chopped and roasted and sauteed. But where was Eren?

The coatrack hadn’t known either, and it wasn’t like him to be so late.

“Shaw,” he said, dishing out rice and vegetables--certain as he was of anything that the boy knew more than he was saying. “Where’s Eren?”

Shaw shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “He’s probably fine. He’s probably just having an Adventure.”

“He had better be,” Levi replied.

 

 

 

 

_The Tiger sat in the hayloft above the terrible meeting, far back, so that their candlelight would not glint upon his eyes in the darkness and betray him._

_The loft was no longer used for storing hay, although the sweet smell lingered. Instead it was filled with old junk; little metal sculptures, broken lamps, disused tools and musty carpets; other, stranger things whose purpose the Tiger could only guess at._

_There was a loud, sudden noise from somewhere outside-- “What was that?” the Witch cried below, and even the Tiger could not keep from starting in surprise. His tail twitched, knocking over some small bibelot, and fortunately the sound was lost in the confusion._

_And suddenly he was not alone in the darkness, and there was the smell of Man._

_At once the Tiger sprung, silent as death upon the stranger; one enormous paw held to the man’s throat._

_“Who are you?” he demanded in a harsh whisper._

_The man gaped up at him. “I’m--I’m--the Knight of Swords,” he said at last._

_“A Knight,” the Tiger repeated. His tail twitched. “There were Knights once in this blighted land; they kept order and peace. Tell me, fellow, do you keep the code?”_

_“I--yes,” the man said. It was dark in the hayloft but he seemed sincere. The Tiger--still wary--took his great paw from the man’s throat and allowed him to sit._

_“Keep quiet,” the Tiger warned. “There are enemies below. Tell me, Knight, were you enchanted by that same Witch that I seek to destroy?” The Tiger looked around the crowded attic space; it pointed a claw at some other statues-- “Are those your companions, there? Has she enchanted you all?”_

_“Ugh,” the man said. He covered his face with his hands, a gesture of despair or unhappiness, and the Tiger’s tail twitched, in sympathy this time._

_“Never mind,” he told the Knight in a gentler voice, “I too have lost those who were dear to me, to the Witch’s machinations; together we shall avenge those we love.”_

 

 

 

 

Shaw and Levi played checkers after dinner, then cards, and when Shaw tired of that he went to the phonograph, and began playing Eren’s records. Levi sat on the couch and read a book. Waiting.

They parted for the evening and Levi went to his bedroom. Hours later when he heard a creak in the hallway he was out of his room in an instant, a silent shadow. 

He stayed just behind Shaw, out of sight. Shaw went into the library and Levi listened for a moment before following him in.

Shaw was sitting on the floor--and staring right at Levi. As if he had expected him, the dratted boy.

“Coudn’t sleep?” Levi asked, crossing his arms. 

“I just wanted something to read,” Shaw said innocently.

Levi glanced at the book in his lap. “You’re reading romance novels now?” It was obvious he had grabbed whatever was closest.

Levi looked around the room--for some clue. But there was nothing that struck him as being obviously out of place. 

Shaw looked down at the book--momentarily perturbed. Then he smiled and looked back up at Levi. “That’s right,” he said cheerfully. “I wanted something so boring it would put me to sleep! Good night Levi!”

He scampered past and Levi smiled sourly. He walked slowly past the shelves, running his hand over the spines of the books. There _was_ something here. He was almost certain. But what it was he didn’t know; this was not his area. Shaw was the little librarian-mage he reflected drily.

He didn’t think Shaw was lying, precisely--and he didn’t feel that Eren was gone, or in any real danger. He thought he would know. He hoped he would. 

He also didn’t want to press Shaw too hard. There were places Shaw could go where he could not follow, and if Eren was in some delicate situation that Shaw had engineered--well, Levi didn’t want to put him in more danger by interfering. He gave the library one last long look before turning out the light and going back to bed.

 

 

 

 

_The Tiger and the Good Knight sailed the Amaranthine Ocean in their pursuit of the Witch; they crossed the Wasteland; they searched until they found the Polyhistor in his desert tower, the only man alive who knew the secret of her destruction._

_By the end they called each other Brother, and there were many tears at their final parting._

_But all of that was still to come._

_The Witch sensed their pursuit; the Tiger might have an ally again, but it would not be for long. She sent her agents after them, assassins skilled in the art of death, and she raged and stormed when her assassins failed. Whatever the Tiger’s claws could not catch, the Knight despatched with his bright blade Zora._

_Finally, furious and growing desperate as her army was cut down the Witch did the thing she had sworn she would never do. She went to the Well at D'Artagnan._

_The walk up the hill through the orchard was cool and misty; she had been here as a girl with her grandfather. Back when she had still been human. It made her skin crawl. Outwardly she showed no sign of disquiet; it would not do to arrive in anything but the greatest self-possession._

_At last, the well._

_She regarded it as one might a worthy opponent, one who has finally--nearly--been victorious. Then she smiled. Though she had been afraid on the approach she did not hesitate. In one smooth motion she used a little silver knife to slice off her little finger. It fell into the well._

_It fell for a long time._

_The water--far, far below--foamed and bubbled. The Witch pressed a handkerchief to the bleeding stump where her finger had been. “How do I kill them?” she said. A voice answered. Slowly she began to smile._

 

 

 

 

Levi spent the next day working, and though he made no mistakes he did not get as much done as he would have liked. He was preoccupied.

Or Preoccupied, as Shaw would have said.

So he was very pleasantly surprised when he arrived home--early, for once--to find Eren sitting on the back steps.

“Eren,” he said, in visible relief. He took in Eren’s appearance--remote, haggard--and shook his head. “What did he do to you?”

Eren smiled. “Made me into a character in one of his books,” he said. 

“Oh lord,” Levi groaned, dropping to sit beside him.

Eren laughed a little. “It's okay,” he said. 

“Is it?”

He nodded, eyes far away. “How long was I gone for?”

“Well, when did Shaw abduct you?”

Eren smiled. “Oh, Wednesday morning. Before breakfast.”

“Just a day and a half, then.”

“It was...longer than that, for me.” He stood up, brushing off the front of his pants. “I’m going to go for a walk.”

“Don’t be too late for dinner, all right?”

Eren nodded as if he hadn’t heard at all; he walked away like a man in a dream. Levi watched him go until he was out of sight. Then he went to look for Shaw. 

Shaw was reading the book in the library, completely engrossed, when someone grabbed him from behind. The book fell from his hands as Levi swept him up, holding him overhead.

“Aaah!” Shaw yelped, trying to squirm away. “Don’t tickle me! Levi, Levi stop, stop!” But he was laughing and laughing, and when Levi finally tossed him onto the couch he scowled as if he was disappointed. 

“Shaw,” Levi said.

Shaw made a face. “I _told_ you he was fine.”

“You aren’t to kidnap people and make them characters in your books. I forbid it.”

“It needed an ending,” he said under his breath.

“Never again, Shaw.”

“I did _ask_ him first, you know. He said yes. And he’s glad he went.”

“And this was after you explained to him the particulars, was it?” Levi said ironically.

Again Shaw made a face. “Well, you’re the Gatekeepers you’re supposed to help people. They needed help too!”

“Shaw, part of being a Gatekeeper is respecting the will of others. We don’t trick people--”

“Sometimes we do,” Shaw said, sudden and direct. Levi paused. He stared at Shaw, who stared back unblinking.

He had not realized, until this moment, that Shaw had had anything to do with what had happened last summer.

The silence stretched between them.

Finally, Levi said in a gentler voice, “Swear, Shaw.”

The too-adult look faded, replaced by a childish scowl. “Fine. I won’t trick people into stories against their will.” He rolled his eyes up at the ceiling. “I swear by Mother North! There, are you happy?”

Levi touched the boy’s head for a moment, and then he went out of the room. Shaw returned to his book.

 

 

 

 

Eren had never been the sort of book-obsessed child that Shaw was. After he had left Levi he had wandered for hours, dazed and dazzled by the memory of the story, his story. The Knight’s story. The Tiger’s story. He had lived it and yet it had happened to someone else. He did not know the simple truth that any honest reader could have told him: the loss he felt was not unique, it was what everyone feels upon coming to the end of a good story. 

The Knight. The Tiger. At first he had been confused and angry, disoriented by the way he had been plucked from life and thrust into Shaw’s ridiculous storybook. Exasperated by the Tiger’s faux-archaic speeches and desperately wondering how he was going to get home. 

How long had it taken for him to all but forget Eren, to forget almost that he had ever been anyone other than the Knight? Two pages? Three?

Everything had been so beautifully simple, as pure as plunging into a pool of deep water (which they had done, somewhere in Chapter 13). Only hunting the Witch mattered, and fighting their enemies. Avenging their dead and protecting the innocent souls that still remained. He had been cleansed of all his unhappiness, his grief and his struggles. You knew who the villains were in this world. You knew who the heroes were. 

He had forgotten about dinner. He had wandered for hours without seeing anything, and when he came back that night he was still lost and far away. He went to his room and showered and changed automatically, and he was looking out of his window, staring out at the fields beyond when Shaw burst in.

Shaw could have told Eren the fog was temporary, that in a few days at most the book would have faded and reality would reassert itself (like it or not). He’d be himself again. Though (if he was lucky) forever changed in some small way. But it never would have occurred to Shaw that someone--particularly an adult--wouldn’t know this already.

“I read the book,” Shaw said without preamble. “How did you save the Tiger? You went into the Lands of the Dead, didn’t you?”

Eren blinked at him in surprise. “I--”

“There’s a gap, one of those things where the author says what happened without saying _how,”_ Shaw said. “They come back to it later. It’s to preserve the mystery. But they never come back to that one.” He crossed his arms. “You did, didn’t you?”

Slowly Eren nodded.

“You can’t do that, Eren!”

“Why? Levi--”

“Levi does all sorts of things no one else can do! You can’t do that, you can’t go there. You’re lucky you did it in a _book_ and not for real. Don’t do it again, okay? You won’t be able to get back; Levi might not even be able to bring you back.”

“But Levi told me he’s walked the Paths of the Dead before--”

Shaw made a noise of exasperation and threw his arms up. “That doesn’t mean that _you_ can! I just told you--!” he shouted. “Anyway, Lady Death is his patron and she’s not _yours_. So stay out of it!”

Eren went a little pale. “Death is his--”

“Don’t look like that! You don’t even _know_ her. She’s very nice, she even babysat me sometimes when I was little. But that doesn’t mean you can just go tramping through her lands!”

“Well, why not?” Eren said, getting annoyed himself. All this was Shaw’s fault anyway. And Shaw was just a little kid, what right did he have to be yelling at him! The mention of Death--especially in relation to Levi--had shaken him out of his fugue and brought all his old fears back to the surface. “If she’s so great--”

“Because a farmer can’t keep track of every dumb cow that wanders along and gets stuck in his fence, that’s why!” Shaw yelled back.

They stared at each other for a minute. Then Shaw frowned and looked away. In a lower voice he asked, “Where did you learn that spell anyway?” There was something wistful in the way he said it, maybe even a little bit jealous. _“I_ don’t even know how to get on the Paths of the Dead.”

Eren frowned back, puzzled now. “You know,” he said slowly, “I don’t remember…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback loved <3333333


	11. Spring

The poets had it wrong. There was nothing glorious about spring. 

After getting caught in a sudden violent rain storm for the twentieth or thirtieth time Eren decided--with critical disinterest borne of experience--that the weather was out to get him, personally.

It was impressive, in a way. The rain would stop just as the last inch of him was thoroughly soaked, and then the sun would come out, but not to dry. Oh no. Only to make the air as humid and unpleasant as possible.

Eren had spent many hours broiling and steaming these last few weeks, as he tramped across muddy fields and deceptively shallow streams. He marvelled at how it was possible to come home both sunburned and soaking wet, day after day. He ruined countless pairs of socks and boots, and the _squish squish squish!_ of his steps haunted his dreams.

He had been looking forward to spring at the end of that long cold winter. He had thought it would be _nice_. 

The only good thing about those damp days (and it was always damp--or else too hot--or too cold. Spring was incapable of moderation) was coming home to _finally_ peel off his clothes and towel off until he was bone dry. Afterward he would lay on the carpet in Levi’s study, in front of the fire, wearing two pairs of socks. The coatrack would bring him something to eat, or leave out a tray if it was busy.

When Levi came home at night he was as neat and clean as when he’d left in the morning. He would step over Eren on his way to his desk to collect the mail, Eren watching jealously from his spot on the carpet. He never commented on the fact that Eren was lying on the floor, though Eren had seen him give the extra socks a second look.

He had no idea how Levi was able to keep clean, and--more importantly!--dry. A strong mixture of envy and embarrassment kept him from asking. It had gone on too long. If he had asked that first day it would have been all right. Now it would only make him look erratic. Or incompetent. Or both.

Levi was on his second letter and he stilled. Eren stopped picking apart the thread that had come off of his sweatshirt, and he rolled to his side for a better look.

“What is it?”

“Erwin,” Levi said, frowning. “He’s coming tomorrow.”

Eren sat up quickly, doing a mental inventory of the last few months, but he couldn’t think of anything they’d done that would be worthy of a reprimand. Not lately, at least. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Levi said, a fine frown appearing between his brows. He put the letter aside. “But something is.”

 

 

 

 

The next day it didn’t rain; it was only muggy and muddy from the day before. The only difference it made was that Eren came home soaked from the inside out instead of from the outside in.

He was in a wild temper. He’d gotten stung dozens of times by some anarchist bees, and he might have even been stung to _death_ (the stupidest way to die he’d ever heard of!) had not some wild roses come to his rescue. 

He was angry that he’d bungled things today, and his anger had taken an irrational turn. If he had crossed paths then with Levi--looking cool and neat as a pin--he probably would have tackled him into the nearest mud puddle in a fit of frustrated misplaced rage.

Unlikely of course that he would have actually managed to tackle Levi, he thought, trying to push back his sweaty hair as he opened the back gate. He needed a damn haircut. More likely Levi would have dropped him as soon as he’d come within kicking distance.

He was--though he never would have admitted it because of how ridiculous it sounded--getting a little annoyed by Levi's faith in him.

It was embarrassing to admit he missed the days when Levi had babied him (little though that had lasted!). Now he was lucky if he even got a note in the morning--and he wouldn't see Levi until dinner. 

_Western field broken boundary stone A-8_

With a scrawled PS at the end: _watch out for williwogs_

 _You never even taught me what a williwog was,_ Eren thought sourly, taking his cup of coffee off to the library.

The gate had deposited him on the little grassy lawn visible from the window in Levi’s study. Eren paused to look around him as he latched it behind him. It was odd seeing the familiar view from the opposite direction. He didn’t even think he’d been out here before; it was not one of the usual approaches to the house.

The lawn was hemmed in by trees on three sides--presumably there was a way to walk around the house, to get to the back door so he wouldn’t have to climb in through Levi’s window. That was Shaw's usual egress.

And there was a woman standing right at the edge of the lawn, where the trees met. She smiled at him.

“Hello, Eren.”

He stared back, momentarily bewildered.

“Historia,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

She had a flower in her hand that she must have picked in the woods somewhere, a bloodroot. She tucked it behind one ear. She nodded towards the house.

“Erwin brought me,” she said calmly, as if she were relating some not very interesting bit of news. “Someone’s trying to kill me.”

 

 

 

 

They had been walking along the edge of the house for a long time before Eren realized they should have reached the back door by now. 

He had been peppering Historia with questions, and was too distracted to notice. It was Historia who finally said--for the first time sounding a little concerned--

“Eren...how big is this house, exactly?”

“Oh--” Eren said, wildly looking around. He blushed a little when he realized he’d gotten distracted enough to forget Levi’s first lesson: _pay attention._

“Sorry,” he said, “it’s like a damn seashore, if you let it.”

At her blank look he elaborated: “Fractals.”

She only looked more confused.

“Ugh,” Eren rubbed his face. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along; there was the back door, just around the next corner now that he was looking for it. “The house is bigger than it looks. I think it can be as big is it wants. You get used to it.”

She wasn’t looking at him anymore. “Are there children up here?”

“Huh? Why?”

“I thought I saw a boy and a girl out there…”

Eren whipped around. They were in back of the house, and everything looked just as it always did. Historia was looking into the distance, into the trees, but there was no one there.

“What did they look like?”

“Oh--pretty young. The boy had dark hair. The girl looked like a strawberry blonde--Eren!” she said in surprise when he grabbed her shoulder, a little too hard.

“How old was she? The girl?”

“Eren!”

“Sorry,” he said, quickly letting her go. “But how old, Historia?”

“I don’t know,” she said, looking back into the trees where they had been. “It was only for a moment. Maybe I--was I seeing things?”

“Guess,” Eren said, with forced patience. 

“Uhm. Three or four maybe? Younger than the boy, I think.”

Eren exhaled. “Let me know if you see them again, will you? Especially the girl.”

She turned her wide blue eyes on him in surprise. “Why? Eren, who is she?”

“Someone important,” Eren said firmly, and led her into the house.

 

 

 

 

Erwin and Levi were in the study; Erwin’s voice cut off abruptly when the two of them came in. Erwin turned--and did a double take upon seeing Eren.

 _Oh godammit,_ Eren thought, automatically looking over at Levi.

He had been looking irritated by whatever Erwin was saying. Now he looked amused.

Eren had been so caught up by Historia’s sudden appearance and wild story that he had forgotten he was still a mess--caked in mud, covered in bee stings, thoroughly wet as usual.

Erwin: “Tough day in the field, huh?” 

Levi: “You look like you lost a fight with a hedge row.”

Eren, with dignity: “I may have done.”

Erwin turned his attention back to Levi. “I’ll let you know,” he said. “Historia--”

“Erwin, I already told him.”

The Commander frowned, but Historia continued, “I’ve known him since I was twelve years old. Whoever your spy is it’s not _him_.”

 _Don’t be too sure,_ Erwin’s sour expression said, but Eren was too busy examining the ceiling to notice. “Be careful, Historia,” he said. “I’ll send word when I can.”

She grunted as if she didn’t believe him, and he left, nodding to the other two.

When he was gone Levi asked curiously, “If you don’t trust _him,_ what are you doing here?”

“I trust Eren. Eren trusts you. That’s good enough for me.”

Levi snorted. “Oh, very good.” He leaned back against the edge of his desk. “So tell me what happened.”

She frowned. “Didn’t he--”

“Yes. I want to hear it from you.”

“I’m going to go get cleaned up,” Eren said suddenly, and he was gone before Historia could blink.

She looked back over at Levi--who was smiling, a little. A very little.

“Did I miss something?”

“Talk.”

She unsnapped the top button of her coat and slid it off her shoulders, but before she could put it down a coatrack--a _walking_ coatrack--ambled in and took it from her. Historia was normally unflappable, but she stared at it open-mouthed until Levi stage-whispered,

“It likes to be thanked."

“Thank you,” Historia said instantly, because good manners had been beaten into her with a stick. She did not take her eyes off of it as it danced away with a bow. Backwards? Hard to tell.

“Well?” Levi prodded, and she shook herself.

“My friend Ymir,” she said, turning to him. “She disappeared a few months ago. She was one of the military cadets that went missing. You know about all that?”

Levi nodded.

“That was how I got involved. I--went looking for her.”

“Looking where?”

No reason to hesitate--he knew, after all. But still she couldn’t quite meet his gaze when she said, “Aestival.”

“And what made you think she’d be there?” he said. She looked at him then, but found him totally inscrutable. He had to know, didn’t he?

“I didn’t. But it’s the only way to travel to the Old Continent. I thought she might have gone back there. It’s where she’s from.”

“Dangerous place for you to go.”

He did know then. She sighed. “I didn’t even make it out of the port,” she amitted, “Before someone tried to kill me.”

“And you don’t know who.”

“No. It could have been anybody--an assassin, a religious fanatic, a damned disgruntled fishmonger.” She looked sadly at the floor--there was a nice carpet there, done in the Old style, a motif of animals running through it. She toed off a shoe to run one socked foot against it. It reminded her of her childhood, growing up in the old rundown farmhouse; leaky ceilings, no hot water, wind that blew right through the cracks in the window frames. Surrounded by the treasures her family had taken away when they’d fled the palace, after her grandfather had been deposed.

She’d been embarrassingly old when she’d realized most people had indoor plumbing that worked, but not enchanted dinnerwear.

“Erwin was there,” she said with a trace of bitterness. “He stopped them. Apparently he’s been keeping tabs on me.”

“You are the heir to the throne,” Levi said. Historia looked at him. Had that been a whiff of irony? She thought so, but couldn’t be sure.

“Yes,” she said. “Lucky me. And you’re an Ackerman; my sworn protector.”

He smiled then--with definite irony. “Not since your family exiled us, I’m afraid.”

 

 

 

 

Eren was towelling off after his shower when there was a knock at his bedroom door. He swallowed--heart sinking. He knew who it was. But he opened the door anyway.

“Hi,” he mumbled, stepping back, and Levi came in and put a folded pile of clothing on his bed. “What’s that?”

“Rain gear,” Levi said, “Until you learn how to make your own.”

He was laughing without laughing, in that way he had that Eren told himself he didn’t like; no, of course not, not at all.

“Ungh,” Eren said. “I mean thank you.”

“Uh-huh.”

He left, and Eren looked at the pile of clothes on the bed, rewrapping the towel around his waist.

_Tackle him into a mud puddle, Eren? That’s Freudian, not Jungian._

He always got home before Levi, so he was always cleaned up and presentable by the time Levi got home. He hadn’t asked for help because--

_Because he was a grown man who only cared about looking cool in front of his crush._

He finished drying his hair and got dressed, muttering to his reflection, “You are an embarrassment.” Then he went to go and find Historia before dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you have written really nice things to me, like 'you write like an angel' etc (and Jesus, that is like chocolate frosting to the soul, srsly) I try to reply to comments because they are AMAZING and I appreciate all of them but sometimes MY MIND GOES BLANK. And then a week goes by. And sometimes I forget. Because human, not actually angel, alas. So consider this a gigantic chocolate-frosting-covered (I mean, if you're into that) THANK YOU for all the comments you've written and all the comments still to come, while I flail around and try to think of something to write in response to your awesome comment <3
> 
> Also, this was a hard chapter to write. (Understatement.) The words did not work. They were broken. It was the hokey pokey. 'You put the right word in, you take the wrong word out, you put the right word in and you shake it all about' ..............no?
> 
> If it's terrible I promise it was much worse before. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> And of course, feedback is <33333


	12. The High Priestess

_They had been two, and now they were three._

It was a thought Eren would have often over the coming weeks; sometimes sad, sometimes wistful, sometimes frustrated. Right now he felt a twinge of jealousy (which he was doing his best to ignore) and an impatient curiosity to know more about what Historia had been doing, and why she was here.

Dinner conversation had been dominated by other things. 

Historia and Eren had volunteered to do the dishes. It gave them a chance to talk.

“Where did you go looking for Ymir?” he asked. She’d given him a rough sketch of her doings before Erwin had brought her North, but no details.

Historia had court manners, and she could talk to anyone--when she had a mind to. But Levi didn’t really do small talk, something Historia had quickly figured out. She had maneuvered the dinner conversation with her usual magnificence, like the fleet ship subtly changing course. Eren had rarely seen Levi so chatty--and of course it made sense for her to want to make a good impression on Levi…

But politeness had quickly exited the conversation. Thirty minutes or so after they’d finished eating Eren had finally given up and begun clearing the plates--leaving them to abuse the government, discuss the purge, and denounce society at large--something he supposed he should have seen coming. 

They were both the last, forgotten scions of great houses, both obscurely educated, both cynical and yet somehow still holding to the ideals of a _code ancien_ …

Historia hurried into the kitchen with the last of the plates. Eren was already at the sink. Her eyes were bright and her face was flushed, happy in a way he’d rarely seen her.

“Sorry, sorry, let me help you with that!” she said quickly.

“You can go back…”

“Oh, no, he said he had to catch up on some things,” Historia said, taking a scrub brush down from the wall and shoving him over.

That was it; no further comment, no “I can see why you like him--” etc. Eren tried not to scowl. Hadn’t he been the one to tell her he didn’t have a chance with Levi? _Of course_ there was no reason for him to get territorial...

So for reasons more petty than pure he brought up Ymir.

As he had expected she sobered up, scrubbing away harder than necessary.

“I thought she might have gone back to the Old Continent,” Historia said in a low voice. “So I went looking for her.”

 _“What?_ How? _You’ve_ been there?”

Refugees from the Old Continent still turned up occasionally, but they were rare--and most of them didn’t want to admit where they’d come from. He hadn’t known it was _possible_ to go back.

She shook her head. “I didn’t make it that far. There’s one place where you can travel from, to get there--it’s a city. An island.” 

“I didn’t think there even _was_ any way to get back there…”

“It isn’t easy. It took me over a month to find a guide, another month to even get to Aestival, and--” she sighed, shook her hands off and dried them on a towel. She turned and leaned back against the sink. “It wasn’t easy,” she repeated. “It took most of my savings to even make the journey. It--Old Magic is different. It burns away at you--changes you. Even up here, in the North--it’s only a shadow of stranger things, compared to the Old Continent. You start to feel its influence even in Aestival. I was afraid,” she admitted. “I have royal blood--I would have survived the journey without going mad--probably. But even seeing so little made me afraid. If I’m being honest, I was almost relieved when Erwin rescued me.

“I would have gone on, still. I would have. But I don’t know that I’d have been able to do her any good--even if I had found her.”

“Historia,” he said softly, and he put his arm around her. She had begun to cry.

 

 

 

 

They had been two, and now they were three. 

It didn’t matter how often Eren told himself he had no reason to be jealous, it didn’t matter how often he told himself that Historia was his oldest friend, apart from Mikasa and Armin.

It didn’t matter how often he told himself that Levi cared about him, that Historia’s visit was only temporary, that Levi had told him he was the only other person in the world that could guard the Northern Gate.

Historia had insisted that Levi give her work to do, and she could do it. She had been trained in many esoteric arts; fencing and tapestry making, magic and herbal medicines.

She had taken over making some of their meals.

She was a better cook than Eren.

The day after her arrival he had found her in the backyard with Shaw. Shaw was holding her hands, looking up at her doe-eyed in admiration while she laughed at something he had said.

“Shaw,” Eren said from the back steps. “Did you--were you with Sirena yesterday?”

Shaw ignored him, “Tell me a story,” he said to Historia.

She thought for a minute. “All right,” she said. “Do you know _The King of the Cats?”_

“Yes,” Shaw answered promptly. “It’s an Aarne–Thompson–Uther type 113A.”

Levi had appeared at Eren’s side on the back steps just in time to hear this; both he and Historia burst into simultaneous laughter. Eren felt obscurely excluded.

Shaw looked from Levi to Historia in bewilderment then smiled slowly, the way children do when they’ve made grown-ups laugh but they don’t know why.

“That’s right,” Historia said, wiping tears away, “All right. Well, how about--”

“No!” Shaw said, with a trace of impatience. “You can still tell it!”

“All right,” Historia said, grinning again. “This is how it was told to me.”

_The King of Cats, as told to Historia Reiss by her Old Nanny_

 _“This is a story that has been told many times, to many people, but my old nanny actually knew the man who first heard it. She told it to me, and now I am telling it to you._

_Many years ago a traveler was journeying on foot to the house of a friend, where he was going to spend the night. He had been walking all day, and even though it was already late and night was coming, he was tired and decided to rest his feet when he came to a ruined abbey. He sat down, took off his boots, leaned against an iron fence, and began to rub his feet. An odd noise made him turn around and peer through the bars of the fence._

_Down below, on the grassy floor of the old abbey, he saw a procession of cats. They walked on their hind legs, in two long lines, and they were marching very very slowly. Now, of course he had never seen anything like that before, and he could hardly contain his astonishment. He bent forward to look more closely. It was then that he saw that the four cats at the head of the procession were carrying a little coffin on their shoulders. They were slowly approaching a small open grave that had been dug right smack dab in the middle of the abbey. When the traveler had seen the grave, he looked back in amazement at the coffin being borne by the lead cats. It was then that he noticed a small crown sat on top of it. As he watched, the lead cats began to slowly lower the coffin into the grave._

_He was so frightened he could not stay in that place a moment longer. He thrust his feet into his boots and he rushed on to the house of his friend. He arrived just in time to sit down with his friend for dinner, and he was so excited and frightened by what had happened that the wine had scarcely been poured before the tale was spilling out of him._

_He had hardly finished when his friend’s cat--who had been dozing in front of the fire all this time, suddenly leaped up and cried, ‘Then I am the King of the Cats!’ and disappeared in a flash up the chimney.”_

Historia had sat on the top step to tell her story; Shaw had come close to listen, and she was running an absent hand through his hair. He nodded, giving her his wise-little-professor look.

“That was good,” he told her with critical impartiality. “You did a good job. Where you talked about ‘pouring the wine’ and ‘spilling the tale’, that was good, I haven’t heard that before.”

Again Levi and Historia laughed, again Eren felt jilted in his jealousy.

“Where are you going?” Shaw asked Levi.

“The Northern Fields today. I have to see about some mushrooms.”

“Can I come?”

“All right.”

Eren and Historia watched them go through the gate at the back of the house--when Eren glanced at her face he saw that she was smiling, and it was like the sunrise. 

“Was that a true story?” he asked her suddenly. 

She looked up at him, startled. “What? No, it was just a fairy tale.”

“Oh,” said Eren.

 

 

 

 

Like all of Lord Macka’s guests, Cibo had been alotted a fine room for the duration of his visit. He had been wearing Macka’s hospitality thin when Eren had arrived, and many not-so-subtle hints had been dropped in his direction (though like all good cats he had ignored them).

Eren’s favor had put a new sheen on him. Overnight (in spite of his questionable suits and his slobbish habits, not to mention his gratingly familiar way of speaking) he had become a favorite of Macka’s, and so all the other cats must make way. A circumstance he found endlessly amusing.

He was working on a piece of poetry, which he (ever hopeful) imagined someday presenting to his bride, on the occasion of their wedding. 

So far he had written,

_Keep your whiskers crisp and clean._  
_Do not let the mice grow lean._  
_Do not let yourself grow fat_  
_like some common kitchen cat._

_Have you set the kittens free?_  
_Do they sometimes ask for me?_  
_Are the cattails growing tall?_  
_Did you patch the garden wall?_

He thought for a long time, chewing luxuriously on the end of a long feather pen.

Then he began to write,

_Take this message to my friends._  
_Say the King of Catnip sends_  
_to the cat who winds his clocks_  
_a thousand sunsets in a box,_

And was interrupted by a rap at his window.

This was surprising, since his room was on the third floor of Lord Macka’s rather considerable manse. He quickly shoved his parchment into a drawer, and slid his chair across the floor. He gave a cattish grin to the person on the other side of the glass and slid the window open, so that they might tumble in.

“Ah, young-feller-me-man!” he said cheerily. “And how are we today?”

Shaw dusted himself off--there were creepers clinging to the side of the house, and a number of leaves had stuck to him on his way up. He dropped a book into Cibo’s waiting hands, looking around him with interest. Cibo had told him how to find him, but he had never been here before. It looked exactly how you would imagine a cat’s room would look, and he found this fascinating.

“Finished?” Cibo asked hopefully, rifling the pages.

“Yes,” Shaw said absently, examining an ink painting of cats flying kites. The kites were all shaped like sardines.

Cibo found the middle of the book where the original story broke off; he settled comfortably into his chair and began to read.

Everybody knew _The Tiger’s Tale,_ it was the last unfinished novel of A. Catty Wampus, the late, great, and greatly-repined author of other classics-- _Cat of a Different Color, The Pride of Lyon,_ etc. He had died tragically young, after eating one too many helpings of nine-mouse stew.

It was also--not coincidentally--Cottonina’s favorite book. You could not bring up A. Catty Wampus without hearing her sigh--what a lamentable tragedy, that he had died before he could complete his greatest work.

Cibo frowned. He quickly turned the page, then another and another. He flipped to the end of the story.

“What’s this--hey? The _Knight of Swords?_ Do you know who that is!?”

“It’s Eren,” Shaw said helpfully. He was looking at another print, this one of two long and elegant cats, in evening clothes and dominos waltzing under moonlight. 

“I bloody know it’s Eren! What’s he doing in the book!”

“You wanted it finished,” Shaw said, finally looking at him. 

Cibo scowled at the boy. He had a dilemma now, and for the first time he doubted himself. He looked down at the illustration of the Knight. Sure, he’d be a hero for presenting Cottonina with a finished copy of her favorite book, but wasn’t this more likely to _encourage_ her unhealthy infatuation with the junior Gatekeeper, rather than push her into the arms of the waiting, dashing, and oh-so-clever Cibo? 

It didn’t matter that Cottonina wouldn’t know a Tarot card from a hole in the wall; the stupid Knight _looked_ like Eren, and Cottonina was sure to notice, even if only unconsciously.

“You should have put me into the book,” Cibo said, a little sullenly. He hadn’t realized _that_ was an option. But then he had no idea how Shaw’s book magic worked.

“The witch would have eaten you,” Shaw said matter-of-factly. “And the Tiger would never have taken you with him. He would have thought you were annoying. You’re a schemer, not a hero.”

Cibo stared at the boy, in a rare moment of speechlessness.

Shaw shrugged. “It’s not an Aarne-Thompson-Uther type 545B,” he said, as if this were some sort of explanation.

Cats tend to ignore what they do not understand. This was no exception. Thin-lipped, Cibo dropped the book onto his untidy desk, and opened a drawer. He took out a small bag and handed it to the boy.

“There’s your payment,” he said in a short, clipped voice. 

“Thanks,” Shaw said, taking it and tucking it into a pocket. “Bye.”

A thought occurred to him. “Hey kid.”

Shaw paused, straddling the windowsill.

“Did, uh,” a little uneasily he looked at the book. “Did you mean it? I would have gotten _eaten?”_

“‘Probly.”

“So,” Cibo said. “But. Eren’s...all right, isn’t he? Did you really put _him_ in the book?”

Shaw nodded. “He came out again. He’s fine.”

“Uh...huh,” Cibo said slowly--he rolled his chair quickly to the window. “So,” he said with careful casualness, “Did you--I mean what did you tell him.”

“Oh,” Shaw said, and made a face. “I _asked_ him to help me finish the story. He _said_ yes. But then after he came out again Levi told me off. He told me I wasn’t allowed to put people in books anymore.”

A complicated expression--or perhaps series of expressions--crossed Cibo’s face. “Did you tell them why you wanted the book finished?”

Shaw shook his head. “They didn’t ask.”

“Hmm. Probably best not to mention it now, then. Eh? Wouldn’t you say?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you get too impressed, yes The King of Cats is a real fairytale if you've never read it. I only slightly adapted it for use here. I've loved its weirdness from the first time I read it.
> 
> And that is an excerpt from a real poem by Nancy Willard, though let us imagine Cibo arrived at it spontaneously, not that he heavily cribbed it ;)
> 
> If you are asking, 'Is x real? Am I real? Is it supposed to be a metaphor? Is this a story? Wait, am I in a story?'
> 
> the answer is always (simultaneously) 'yes' and 'don't overthink it' 
> 
> Also with great restraint I did not include 'Catablanca' or 'The Little Purr-maid' as other great works of cattish literature
> 
> feedback is loved <3333


	13. The Color of the Sky on a Gray and Sunless Day

“Let me see,” Historia murmured. She ran her hand over and over Levi’s palm while Eren stood back, doing his best to suppress a murderous rage.

Levi waited patiently. It was a long time before Historia spoke again.

“Here,” she said, sounding satisfied and certain. Her other hand darted forward, like a kingfisher spotting prey, and in a moment she had plucked something from Levi’s palm with a pair of tweezers. 

She held it up to the light. It squirmed.

“Ugh,” Levi said. He wiped his palm on his pants. “That’s disgusting.”

“I guess they have to live too.”

“Not in my hand, they don’t.”

“Le-vi!” someone called, and the three of them turned. They were standing in a cool and muddy field, and they had been on their way to the cairns when Levi had felt the sharp stinging in his hand.

It was Hanji, far away, waving wildly.

Levi paused. Only because Eren had made a study of him did he see the flash of quick concern. He also saw Historia put the little squirming worm--or whatever it was--into a box which she slipped into her pocket. 

“You two can handle this can’t you,” Levi said rhetorically, eyes trained on Hanji. “Historia, look out for Eren.”

Eren sputtered in outrage and Historia grinned. Levi climbed back over the wooden fence--carefully, this time, to avoid any more parasites. He crossed the field to meet Hanji.

Eren scowled and took off in the direction of the cairns. Historia had to hurry to keep up, but she didn’t ask him to slow down. Only when they had reached the barrows did his anger begin to fade, his skin prickling unpleasantly. 

The earth was disturbed. As if some animal had been here, digging and rooting, or as if giants had been fighting over the hallowed ground. Or as if someone had been looking for...something. 

“Well, should we start?” Historia asked. She clapped her hands and strode forward. 

Eren didn't answer. The spirits had been disturbed by the destruction here... That was why they had come, setting out this morning at dawn. Though what was here...you could hardly call them ghosts.

They had died hundreds, perhaps thousands of years ago. Whoever they had once been--nobles, priests, royals, most likely, to be remembered thus--they were now only shreds of spirit, indistinguishable even as male or female, old or young. Only a kind of greasy aura hanging in the air.

They were also mostly harmless. The ghasts were fine as long as you refused to let them come with you.

But they _asked_ if they could come with you, and kept _on_ asking. Piteously. Ignoring them, refusing them, was like turning your back on some helpless wounded animal.

It didn’t seem to be bothering Historia. 

“No,” she said in a practiced, cheerful, no-nonsense voice every time one approached her. This would put it off for a moment. It would pause, and she would roll one stone over, drag another, and it would be a minute or two before it asked again.

“Eren?” she said. He nodded but didn’t make any move.

“What is it?” She turned to look back at the ghasts--some few dozen maundering and drifting about the field. “They’re harmless. They can’t hurt you unless--”

“I know,” he snapped. 

She crossed her arms over her chest. She looked exactly like a well-heeled lady on a country holiday today--long, top quality leather boots, thin quilted navy jacket that was warmer than it looked, even a red-patterned silk handkerchief tied round her neck.

“Well, what--”

“I don’t like them, all right?”

She blew out a puff of air, tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and said in a forced, cheerful voice, “All right! Should we talk about the other thing, then?”

He gave her a wary look. “What are you talking about?”

“Why you’re being a fucking asshole!”

He shook his head. “I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. Ever since I came here. I’m sorry to horn in on your--”

“That’s not it,” he said. 

“Well, you don’t want me here! That’s obvious! I don’t want to be here either! I wouldn’t be if someone wasn’t trying to _assassinate_ me--”

“I don’t think that’s the only reason you’re here,” Eren said, staring at the ghasts. He hadn’t gone any closer because at this distance they couldn’t speak to him. They were tethered to their ground--unless he said yes, of course.

Levi had warned him they might try to speak in voices that he knew. They couldn’t do much--they weren’t a threat unless you let them in. But they could hear dead voices, and--

 _What if one of them spoke, and it sounded like Petra?_ The thought made him physically ill.

“What are you talking about? Erwin brought me here because--”

“The North brings people here that it needs,” Eren said quietly. It was something he had realized recently. “It brought me….because it knew I could help Levi. It brought Levi because it knew how strong he was...you think you’re here for one reason, but it might be because the North wants you here.”

“Then what--”

“You like him.”

“So what if I like him! I’m allowed to like people!” Historia exploded.

“I know,” Eren said dully. “He likes you too.”

Historia frowned. In a different tone--more even, measured, she said, “Eren, I’m not trying to take anything away from you.”

He spread his hands. “I don’t have anything to be taken away.”

“Eren--”

He took a step forward, close enough now that one of the ghasts could notice him and begin to drift his way. “Come on,” he said. “Are we doing this?”

She glared at him. Drawing on all her age and experience--another girl might have pressed the point--she said, “Draw your sword,” witheringly, and turned back to the scattered stones.

He blinked. Then he drew Zora, and the pearly silver gleamed even in the dull light. The ghasts were repulsed by the blade; they drew away from him and he felt for a moment giddy with relief.

Then he clenched his hand around the haft. _I should have thought of that._

 

 

 

 

As soon as Levi was close enough Hanji said, “Where can we go where we won’t be overheard?” The wind whipped around them, drawing loose her hair.

He gave her a faintly surprised look. “The house I guess. Or Eren’s chapel. It’s closer.”

She gave him a brusque nod and started walking. Levi fell into step beside her. He took note as they walked--fences that needed mending, disturbed boundary stones. Signs of trouble.

When they reached the chapel Hanji pulled the door open and went through, and Levi followed, closing it gently on the heels of a faint breeze. He sat on the edge of a wooden bench and breathed in the sweet cool smell of cedar, the thin watery light casting rainbows on the floor. 

“What do you remember about that night the Titans attacked?” she said without preamble. “The night we supposedly caught you using blood magic?”

He blinked and said, “Hanji, whatever you want to know--”

“I didn’t come that night,” she said. “Some pipes burst at the Eastern Gatehouse, I remember that. But do you remember why I was supposed to come in the first place?”

“You--” he said, and he had the answer, but it flitted away. He frowned.

“You found a bone,” she prompted. “You and Eren. A Titan bone--do you remember?”

He did, now that she mentioned it--but he had forgotten. 

“I--”

“I was supposed to come and tell you what I had found,” she said. “You gave me the bone, the Titan bone, and I was supposed to look into it--”

“Eren’s spell,” Levi said. “We forgot. We all forgot.”

“Yes. And it’s gone now.”

“What?” 

“The bone. It’s disappeared--or been stolen.” She shrugged. “But I know what it was. I’ve been jumping through rabbit holes--trying to pin down what happened that night, and chasing down old texts.

“That bone was a fragment left from one of the Nine Titans.”

He looked at her blankly.

“There’s a myth about Nine Titans--” Hanji threw her hands wide, and an illustrated scene--like something out of a storybook--took shape in the air between them. Nine Titans--unusual, varied in form--stood tall over a landscape, dominating hundreds of others. The scene shifted, showing battlefields, destruction, chaos, but also bridges being built by the Titans, castles, walls. “They were said to have had the power to control the other Titans. Each one was said to be able to transform into a human at will, and back again.”

Levi gave her a skeptical look. She shrugged.

“That’s what the story said. The bone was from one of them.” The scene between them abruptly dissolved, nothing more than motes floating in the air.

“Then you believe this story? So where are these Nine Titans now? Why haven’t we ever heard of them?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “There were things our ancestors left behind on the Old Continent...perhaps the Nine Titans were among them.”

“Someone was controlling them that night,” Levi said. “Someone who has the power of one of these Nine? Is that what you’re saying?”

She shrugged again. “I’m telling you what I found out. I’m questioning why I forgot--why we all forgot. It’s troubling, considering everything else that’s happened. And--”

“What?”

“There was a fragment I found that hinted that one of the Titans--it’s called the Founding Titan--has the power to make people forget--”

“Lots of things can do that.”

“I know, but just think; all this time you’ve been operating under the assumption that all our memories were disrupted by the spell--”

“They were.”

“Yes! But suppose it wasn’t only that. _Some_ unknown antagonist has been working against us. Someone was controlling the Titans that night. Someone tried to break through the wards--would they have?”

“Yes...there were enough of them to do it.”

“So why didn’t they return the next night to try again? That I think we can credibly say was due to Eren’s spell--whoever was responsible must have had their army thrown to the winds, or had some impediment put in their path too great to overcome. They must have sought another way, and maybe _they_ simultaneously cast some spell of forgetting on _us_ so we wouldn’t pursue their identity.”

Levi frowned, thinking it over. “You did remember though. You recalled it to me.”

“Yes--with difficulty. No spell of that kind is perfect. Or at least none that I’ve ever seen.” She finally sat down--she had been pacing and gesticulating all this time. “There were certain things that didn’t add up,” she said moodily, clasping her hands and holding them loosely between her knees. “Things I noticed--in my own memory--that were out of place. From there it was just a matter of unraveling the thread.”

“All right,” Levi said. He stood up. “What do we know about this person? This enemy? We have a spy in the military. We have someone who can control the Titans--someone from the Old Continent.”

“You think they’re all the same person?” Hanji said.

“Hanji. You tell me. The Titans that attacked us here would have broken through our wards, but for Eren’s spell. Whoever our attacker is--they weren’t expecting us to have that kind of weapon. If you’re right and their Titan army was scattered then they would have had to abandon their plan...or come up with a new one. What did all of the missing cadets have in common?”

“They were all from the Old Continent,” Hanji said, watching him uneasily. “But you know no one else in the military is--we’ve _checked_.”

“Hanji, our enemy is a powerful magician. It could be any of us. It could be _me._ It could be _you_.”

“Haha, very funny,” she muttered, chewing on her thumbnail. She was quiet for a minute, then she protested bleakly, “But how could someone hide old magic! We’ve checked everyone!” She gave him an unhappy, searching look. “What now? Erwin?”

“You’d better.” He studied her. “Shouldn’t you have gone to him first? Before me?”

“I...had a dream last night.”

“A premonition?”

To his surprise she leaped up and caught him in a tight embrace. 

“Hanji. A true premonition?” he asked. Tolerating her hug for a moment before pushing her away. 

“I hope not,” she said, and she crossed her arms and turned from him suppressing a shudder.

She had dreamed of Levi walking in a gray landscape, filled with trees the color of smoke, of ash. Rusks. There had been something terrible about them. As if they held some awful secret.

“Be careful,” she murmured. “Eren, too.”

 

 

 

 

Eren found Levi in his study that night. Levi had never turned up at the cairns, and he and Historia had finished repairing the earthworks without him. It had been a mostly silent, borderline hostile afternoon. Historia had twice tried to bridge the gap but he’d rebuffed her.

Levi was looking over maps, most of them old and brown and fragile.

“I--wanted to ask you,” Eren said haltingly. “If I could go to the city. For a visit.”

Levi looked up. He held a compass in one hand, a golden pencil in the other. “When? Now? Sure. Historia and I can manage here.” He looked back down at the maps and made a mark with the pencil. Magnanimously he added, “Take as much time as you want.”

“Thanks,” Eren said awfully, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback loved!


	14. Besieged

Cottonina slid a long gown over her head. It was diaphanous, cloud-like, made up of sheer pale layers of apricot silk. She rummaged in her jewelry box until she came up with a diamond brooch in the shape of a mouse that had been her mother’s. She pinned it to one shoulder, humming to herself. She smoothed back whiskers and fur and threw a pair of high heeled sandals over one shoulder. 

It was a fine day, summery even. Lord Macka could not abide winter. A week of snow at Christmas was the most the clowder could hope for. The rest of the year was an almost eternal summer, just enough cool and rainy days thrown in to enjoy interludes by the fire before returning to the endless games: cards, croquet, tennis, cricket. 

Dalmatina was coming today, for a long visit, and she was looking forward to it.

Tina was a tall girl, leggy, decidedly _sporty._ Canine of disposition. Cottonina’s oldest friend, and it was a friendship that predated them. Their mothers had been at school together. She was tolerated by the cats, owing to long acquaintance. 

“Why,” some of the elderly courtiers would say, “I hardly even _think_ of you as a dog, Miss Dalmatina!”

This, for a cat, passed as a compliment.

Tina was by far the prettiest of her sisters, and it had been a long time before Cottonina had realized that this was because they were all Corgies, and she was not. 

No reference had ever been made to adoption, and Cottonina would never have been indiscreet enough to _ask_. All the same, as she grew older she found it curious no one spoke of it, even obliquely. Perhaps Dalmatina was simply a miracle. It was the sort of thing she would have asked her mother, had not that lady died in her kittenhood, and her father never remarried. The old Queens and Toms--at least the ones she knew--were not the kind you could ask that sort of thing, and the young ones were even sillier than she was.

At any rate, it would be good to see Dalmatina. They had written letters, but it had been months since they had been together. 

She swayed gracefully to the bottom of the hill and sat on a long granite stone in the sun. There she unhurriedly put on her sandals, lightly tapping one hind leg.

Soon enough--Lady Pogo was excessively punctual--an emerald green two-seater appeared on the horizon, and rolled to a stop just a few feet from Cottonina’s perch. 

Dalmatina was in the passenger seat. She was wearing a short blue and white frock today, and had an expensive-looking scarf tied over her head. Large bottle-green sunglasses gave her a beetle-ish appearance.

“New car, Lady P?” Cottonina inquired with practiced insouciance.

“Oh, yes dear,” Lady Pogo said. “Pogo would have it; one does not argue. Do you like it? I did think it was perhaps a little…”

“Fetching,” Cottonina said. “I like seeing you in it.” Lady Pogo was small and nearly spherical, with a refined dowdiness that signaled extreme wealth. The car suited Dalmatina’s youth and elegant form perfectly; Lady Pogo looked ridiculous in it. 

Lady P beamed at her. “Thank you my love! And how is dear Lord Macka?”

“Very poorly. You must come up and ask him about his lumbago. It is the only thing that can possibly cheer him.”

Lady Pogo clucked sympathetically. “Poor dear! I couldn’t possibly, I’m not at all the thing…” She tugged remorsefully at the purple jacket and cream blouse she wore, just as if they had not cost Pogo six hundred dollars.

Cottonina’s eyes narrowed the way they did when she was amused. Of course Lady Pogo looked just as she always did. Ballgown or tartans it did not signify; there was something essentially Lady P about her that overcame any obstacle of dress. “You must, dear Lady P. He has ordered cakes for you, specially from the city.”

She hemmed, “Well--I do not like to see anyone go to trouble on _my_ account--he ought not have--still, I cannot disappoint him if he did _particularly_ wish to see me…”

Dalmatina--who had been chomping at the bit and doing her best not to show it--said, “That’s right, mama, just drive right on up to the door. You know you are too fat to walk up that steep driveway.” She hopped gracefully out. “Nina and I will walk up.”

Only a little more of Nina’s agreeable assurances that she _must_ come and visit were needed. Lady Pogo finally departed, trilling goodbye as if they were parting for much longer than the length of the driveway.

“At last!” Tina cried, outstretching her arms. 

“You ought to be nice to her. I adore your mother.”

“I am very nice to her,” Tina retorted. “I’m her favorite. Now tell all. How is the mysterious Cibo these days?”

Cottonina made a vulgar noise. “That old fraud! Don’t you encourage him, Tina, or I shall never speak to you again.”

Tina gave a braying laugh. “Aren’t you engaged yet? Ah, well, never mind, soon enough--”

Cottonina struck at her with claws extended, but Dalmatina only laughed and darted out of the way. “Nina really! You can finally get that passel of calico kittens you always wanted--Cibo’s all white, he couldn’t prevent it--”

“He probably dyes it,” Nina shot back. “And don’t talk to me about kittens! My god, you think I want a pack of mewling brats to look after?”

“You changed your mind? Going to die old and alone?”

“There’s plenty of time,” Nina said haughtily. “I’ll wait until I’m old and fat to have them, like _your_ mama did.”

Tina chuckled good-naturedly. “If Cibo hasn’t struck your fancy who else is there?”

Nina said nothing as they walked along, taking a path that ran alongside the house--Macka and Lady Pogo would be hours gossiping, there was no need to hurry--and then Tina groaned. “No, Nina, not _still.”_

“He likes me,” Nina said mildly. “I don’t know why you find that so hard to believe. You saw--”

“You’ve met him twice! He’s human! He’s a gatekeeper! They live like monks!”

“Tina, dear. The course of true love never did run smooth.”

Dalmatina shook her head. There was no use talking sense to Nina in one of her moods; probably she had fixed her eye on the gatekeeper’s apprentice because she _knew_ it was impossible. All cats were perverse.

They had reached the edge of the promontory. It gave an uninterrupted view of Lord Macka’s vast estate and the lands beyond. Here they stopped to admire the view. Nina inquired politely after the Pogo siblings, and Dalmatina caught her up on the doings of Rex, Aporia, Arvis, and Merope. Rex was grown, but the Pogo sisters were still puppies by the dogs’ accounting. 

Tina suddenly paused, jerking her head as though she had just caught sight or smell of something dangerous. Nina turned to look. Tina caught her arm tightly.

“Nina, what _is_ that?” she asked in a low frightened voice, and Nina scanned the horizon where her friend was pointing.

She inhaled--gasped.

“Is that--”

“The human world.”

“But what--?”

Nina shook her head. Her skin prickled; all her hair had risen up of its own accord. She was young and pretty and rich, and apart from her mother’s death nothing bad had ever happened to her. Until this moment she had not really believed in tragedy.

“They can’t…” Tina said haltingly. She turned her black-and-white spotted face nervously on her friend. “I mean. We’re _safe_ here. Aren’t we?”

Nina nodded, not believing it for an instant. “Of course we are, darling. Let’s go inside. They may not have seen yet…”

 

 

Eren took the ghost train down to the city the next day. All his sullen irritation had faded. The rabbit conductor came to stamp his ticket, giving him a collegial nod before passing on. Today the train was oddly empty, and he had a whole car to himself.

He felt low. Having gotten Levi’s permission to leave he found he only wanted to stay. If Levi and Historia did like each other, well, now there was no impediment to them _doing_ something about it. His brain helpfully supplied him with a constant stream of what they could be getting up to without _him_ there…

 _Well what does it matter?_ he asked himself as the train rolled through fields of heather and spring rye. _You love him, sure, fine, big deal. You’ve been up there, what, almost a year? Getting close. If he wanted you that way you’d know._

_He doesn’t. Historia is a gifted magician. She can hold her own up here. She’d be a good partner to him. She could protect him…_

His thoughts ran that way for the entire journey. Warm winter nights of games and music and meditation--that was all so long ago. Another life. It wasn’t until the train was pulling into Oana Station that he realized he had no idea what he was going to _do_ in the city. He’d been too concerned with fleeing to think about what came next.

Quickly he gathered his things and stepped out onto the empty platform. There was Armin and Mikasa’s place--hard to think of it as his anymore. Armin had even written to let him know Connie was sleeping in his old bedroom. He shouldered his bag. No, he didn’t want to turn up there, or not yet.

He pushed through the turnstile. What then? Not Mada’s place--not Historia’s either. He sighed. 

For want of anything better to do he took the subway to Military HQ, figuring Zackly _must_ have something to tell him by now.

The big ostentatious building was nearly empty by the time he got there. Eren looked around non-plused. No one at reception, and most of the offices were dark. He went up to Zackly’s anyway and was about to knock on the door when it opened to reveal Zackly’s assistant. He was wearing a dun-colored jacket and holding a set of keys--going home for the day.

“Eren,” the young man said, looking surprised and giving him a pleasant smile. For a moment Eren was disconcerted. 

“Uh...hi Zeke,” he said, fumbling for the man’s name. “I was coming to see Commander Zackly.”

“I’m afraid the Commander’s not here. He’s away--on business.”

“Away? As in--not in the city?”

Zeke shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. We don’t expect him back for a week or more.”

“Oh,” Eren said, deflated.

There was a pause while they regarded each other. Then Zeke said, “Are you--that is, is Captain Levi with you?”

“Uh...no. It’s just me.”

Zeke nodded. “I’m sorry, then to disappoint you...if that was the only reason you came.”

Eren just nodded, reaching a hand up to push his hair back. _What now?_

“Do you have plans for dinner?”

Eren blinked. “What?”

“Dinner--are you engaged? Do you like hot pot?” Zeke locked the commander’s office and swung a leather satchel over one shoulder. “Come with me.”

 

 

They stopped at a market on the way to Zeke’s house, and Eren watched him make his way through an unfamiliar landscape of chilis, roots, and gourds. 

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” he said uneasily, watching vegetables pile up in Zeke’s basket.

Zeke grinned. “I was going to make it anyway,” he said. “Seems less wasteful to have company.” He held up a plant. “Do you like burdock?”

“I...don’t know.” Eren said, trying to recall if it was one he’d ever eaten with Levi.

Zeke tossed it in the basket. “Mada Tallisa,” he said suddenly. “You were very close to her?”

Eren nodded. “She was like a second mother to me. After mine died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

He followed Zeke as he wended his way through the store, adding tea, herbs, meat to his basket. Eren was preoccupied with his thoughts. What was he _doing_ here, anyway? At the checkout Zeke had paid before he’d even realized.

“Hey!” he said suddenly. “Here, let me give you half for the groceries.” Zeke pushed the money away. 

“Nah, I told you. I was shopping anyway.”

“Well...thanks,” Eren said awkwardly. “It’s nice of you.”

“You came all this way. It’s the least I can do.”

Outside on the street the sunshine was hot enough that Eren shrugged out of his jacket--and abruptly realized, in a wave of self-consciousness, that he was sweaty and smelly underneath. He pushed at his damp hair with one hand--and he needed a haircut. What a tremendous impression he had to be making. He grabbed one of Zeke’s shopping bags, and after a moment Zeke let it go with a faint smile.

“My place is a little bit of a walk,” he said. “Do you mind?”

Eren shook his head. 

“Will you tell me about her?”

“Mada? What do you want to know?”

Zeke shrugged. “Whatever you like.”

So Eren did--flotsam and jetsam of memories bubbling to the surface. He hardly even noticed what he said, just kept talking until they reached a tan and white house set into the side of a hill. Eren climbed up the steep stairs after Zeke. He unlocked the door to the second floor, and Eren followed him in.

There was an entryway--Zeke took off his shoes and Eren kicked his off, surreptitiously looking around for the bathroom--he wanted to change clothes before he stank up the place.

The rooms were very clean--the few pieces of furniture spoke to an elegant asceticism rather than poverty. There was a large hand carved Go table on the floor, with two small flat cushions on either side of it. No tv that Eren could see. A carved wooden screen, and some brush and ink paintings on the wall. Zeke carried the grocery bags into the kitchen and Eren looked for a place to hang his coat. 

On the wall by the door hung a long horizontal hat rack. There were six or seven baseball caps lined up on it, in a dusty grimy row.

He stared, filled with indescribable horror. He had been hot and sweaty from the walk but now he was abruptly chilled, almost shivering. _They’re just baseball caps._ His brain shied away from this; he didn’t want to look at them. He was being absurd. There was nothing wrong with them--just a bunch of dirty mismatched hats hanging on the wall.

_They’re the only dirty thing in here. Why doesn’t he wash them?_

It doesn’t matter, he told himself. Zeke was talking and he tried to pay attention--followed him to the kitchen, happy to take charge of garlic and ginger and beef bones. Anything to get away from the horror in the other room.

 _Why does he keep them?_ Eren wondered. The kitchen was clean, light-filled, airy. A few modern appliances sat on the counters, and Zeke had a fine collection of knives. Everywhere he looked things were clean, gleaming, sparkling. 

Those baseball caps were the only discordant note in the apartment. He did his best to ignore them, and by and by he managed. The food helped--Zeke was a very good cook, or at least a very good cook of hot pot. They talked about different things--Zeke was curious all about Eren’s life in the North, and Eren did his best to describe it. 

Zeke showed him how to swish the vegetables and meat in the pot of simmering broth. It sat between them, above a little candle-lit brazier. It was dark outside, and the apartment was filled with the fragrant steam of herbs. Eren looked outside the window, one hand cupping his tea. What were Historia and Levi doing now? Eating dinner, if he was lucky...

“Do you play Go?” Zeke asked.

“A little--I’m not very good. I’m better at cards. I think.”

“Cards it is,” Zeke said, removing a deck from a drawer. He shuffled the pack for poker, dealing them each a hand, but he made no move to look at his own. He seemed to have something on his mind.

Eren looked at his own cards automatically. The first card was the Jack of Spades. It gave him a start. The Tarot had been compacted over time into the modern deck--but Spades had arisen from Swords. The Jack of Spades was equivalent to his _own_ card. The next card was the Three of Spades. Too close to his own mental state for him to believe it was anything but directed at _him_. He glanced across the table--at Zeke, still looking away as if gathering his thoughts.

Seven of Spades.

“Eren…”

“Huh?”

“I feel like I should tell you,” Zeke said slowly. “I don’t think Zackly is--well, I don’t like to say anything against him, but...I don’t think he is looking into this as seriously as he could be.”

“You mean Mada?” Eren said, forgetting the cards.

Zeke nodded slowly. “What happened to your parents?” he asked suddenly. “You said Mada was like a second mother to you…”

“I...they were killed, at Shinganshina. I was in the camps after. With my friends. It was Mada who came and found us--well, me, but she brought us all here. We got scholarships to go to school…”

“I lost my parents when I was young too,” Zeke said. “I know what it’s like. I guess I wished I had someone like that--some adult to help me and look after me. I’m sorry you lost her, Eren. I really am. I want to ask you--would you mind if I took a look around? Into her death, I mean. Would you want me to? It wouldn’t be going against Zackly...he has a lot to do, after all, and there haven’t been any leads. But--”

“I’d like that a lot,” Eren said quickly. “That would be great. I’d appreciate--anything you could do to help.”

Zeke gave him a faint smile--nodded. “All right then,” he said. He picked up his own hand, then grimaced and threw his cards down. “On second thought,” he said with a self-deprecating smile, “how about that Go game after all?”

 

 

 

Zeke invited him to stay the night. They were getting along so well that Eren would gladly have taken him up on it, but for those awful baseball caps. He had almost forgotten them after dinner; they’d got to talking, drinking tea, playing Go. But when they’d gone to the kitchen to wash up he’d caught sight of the wooden rack by the door--somehow _lurking_ \--and he’d lied easily when Zeke had asked, saying his friends were expecting him.

He made it back to Armin and Mikasa’s a little after eleven, feeling better than he had in a long time. Zeke was a good guy--he’d felt a curious connection to him. Maybe because they’d both been orphaned at a young age and grown up in odd circumstances. But whatever the reason he was happy to have another ally, one who--hopefully--could finally help him uncover the truth about Mada’s death. 

Lights were on in the house, but he didn’t bother with the front door. Standing on the porch railing he could reach the second floor, and he hoisted himself up and pried the window open to his old room. Connie was there, playing a video game with total absorption, and Eren shimmied in unnoticed.

He waited for an opportune moment--then said, “Jesus fuck Connie my dead grandmother shoots better than you.”

Connie screamed and threw his controller at Eren--who just missed being clobbered when he fell to the floor laughing. 

Connie stared at him for a minute of adrenaline-fueled shock. Then he said, “Eren, you asshole! What the fuck are you doing here!”

“It’s my room.”

“Nah-ah bitch I pay more rent than you ever did!”

Connie tackled him as he was getting up, knocking him back to the floor. 

“How you doin’ my man? What’s going on? Why are you _here?”_ Connie had been on the wrestling team at their old high school and he was an unstoppable force once he had you on the ground. He gave Eren’s head an affectionate rub (even as he had Eren trapped in a headlock) and Eren grinned up at him.

“I came to school you,” Eren said, grasping for the discarded controller. Connie let him go. “Shove over. Who’s home, d’you know?”

 

 

 

He was alseep on the floor next to Connie’s bed when the light appeared. He was dreaming--at least, he was pretty sure he was dreaming--when the gap between the closet door and the frame began to glow, white light in the darkness.

The door opened and he sat up--at least, part of him did. He turned to look down at his body, still sound asleep on the floor, and

Levi was there in the room.

“Levi,” Eren gaped at him, “What are you--doing here--”

He turned again to look at his body, asleep on the floor, was this a dream, what _was_ this--

“Eren. I need you to come back now.”

“What--”

“Now. I’m holding the door. I can’t keep it open for long. Now, Eren.”

Levi’s voice was calm as ever, but beneath it Eren could feel the ripple of anxiety, the things unsaid. He was bewildered--what the hell was happening, _was_ this a dream--but he latched on to the thing he could understand--

Levi was afraid for him, Levi wanted him back now; Eren opened himself up a little and as soon as he did he felt the groundswell magic all around, never far, it was here and there was a door and Levi was holding it open.

 _I’m in danger,_ Eren thought, suddenly very calm. _There’s something here that’s dangerous; he would have never done something so drastic otherwise._

“What about my friends?” Eren asked.

“There isn’t time, Eren--” anyone else would have shouted this; Levi did not.

“They’re all here,” Eren said, fixing him with a clear green gaze. However Levi answered the question--or didn’t--would tell him what he needed to know.

Levi hesitated--that was enough.

“I won’t be a minute,” he promised Levi, and then he was 

_awake_

He scrambled to his feet--grabbed Connie from his bed, opened the closet door and shoved him through--

His mind made a map of the house, where everyone was likely to be, and he--

 _“Mikasa!”_ he hollered.

He brought them all to safety in his mind first; intention, never forget your intention.

“What--Eren!--what are you doing--”

Mikasa had flung the bedroom door open, was staring at him wild-eyed with a baseball bat in her hand--he pushed her through the closet door, and Armin was there, roused by the commotion--he went too--

Sasha was running up the steps and he pushed her through, he could hear Mikasa demanding but her voice growing too faint to hear--

That left only Jean, and he was tempted to leave him. But he ran to Mikasa’s room and found him asleep in her bed--dragged him out of it--he kicked at Eren, sputtered, and Eren dragged him down the hall to his own old bedroom, into the closet--

Which was not a closet anymore, but a long, tunnel, dark, the stuff of childhood fantasies (or nightmares) he couldn’t see anything but he could hear their voices babbling at him,

“Everyone here?” he said, feeling in the dark, he linked their hands, many grasping hands reaching for him and something comforting in that, instead of strange.

“Stay together. Hold on to each other.”

“Eren, _what’s going on?”_ one of them said, or perhaps they all did.

“The city’s under siege,” he said with an odd surety he had not until this moment possessed. The knowledge was there--ready and clear as if he had unfolded it from a newspaper, black and white in twelve inch letters. “We’re under attack. It’s Shinganshina all over again.”

 

 

 

 

They followed the tunnel, the pathway in the dark--it seemed to collapse behind them by some quirk of unreality--and someone moaned, or perhaps it was all of them. 

“What is this, Eren?” someone asked.

Armin or Mikasa, he thought, but it was hard to tell. He was the most real of them in this not-a-place--the others were bodiless and he at least had form--but even he would dissolve into quiet nothing if he stayed long enough.

“It’s the Back Way. Sort of,” he said. “Levi’s holding a door open for us.”

No one replied. _Mikasa,_ he thought calmly, fixing each of them in his mind, remembering them all as they were. _Armin. Jean. Connie. Sasha._

They walked, quiet creep of footfalls audible only because they (or one of them) expected to hear them.

 _The North,_ Eren thought, fixing the place in his heart. It might have been ten feet or ten miles or ten days or ten years,

Until another door opened.

 

 

 

 

Historia stood in the hallway, holding a silk wrap close to her body. Her breath was slow and even and careful--Levi stood a few feet away from her, on the opposite side of the upstairs closet door. Neither of them had spoken in some time.

She kept her mind blank and focused--a neat trick, if you could manage it--knew Levi was doing the same. If either of them had faltered the tunnel connecting the Gatehouse to the house back in the city--a mean feat of metaphysics, to be sure--would have collapsed, and with it the half dozen people traveling inside. 

But neither of them did. If you needed two people to hold a bridge while balancing one-legged on rubber balls, while six _other_ people walked across it blind-folded--well. You could not have found two people to do it better than Historia and Levi. 

A wildly dangerous and reckless feat that he would not have attempted with anyone else.

The door burst open, and they fell out in a pile of limbs--for a moment only Historia wondered if it would resolve itself into her oldest and dearest friends, or just some monstrous misshapen accident of flesh--and then Mikasa and Armin and Eren and the others were picking themselves up and loudly groaning or complaining or looking around in bewilderment.

She and Levi let go at the same time--shared a look of mingled relief and exhaustion--it would have been bad enough with only one, but there: Eren had to make things interesting. 

Historia gave a little exhale that was half a laugh. “Hello, all,” she said. “Welcome. I think we can offer you some refreshments in the parlor.”

She ignored the groans and grimaces and demands for explanations and turned to go, knowing they would follow (suggestive magic being a particular specialty of hers). There had not been any time to discuss it with Levi, but they would need beds and she thought she knew the house well enough to know where she could put them…anything beyond _that_ though would have to wait until morning. She was almost shaking with exhaustion.

Levi and Eren regarded each other in the sudden stillness. Eren released a breath it felt like he had been holding since he’d woken up on the floor in his old bedroom. The need had been too urgent for him to feel _anything_ but now fear was catching up to him.

“You--” he said, at the same time Levi said,

“I shouldn’t have let you go; I’m sorry.”

“What--”

“I knew something was happening, but not what; not until it was almost too late.”

And he felt in Levi’s voice a narrow strip of fear that touched him, touched some part of him that had until now been unreachable by anyone.

There was nothing to say to that. He put his arms around Levi, felt pleasure at the warmth of his body, the strength, the toughness-- _yes, me, he was worried about_ me--felt content and joy and love driving out all the fear in him.

Nothing mattered in that moment but this. The whole world might have fit into his arms, but it was only Levi and that was enough. Almost a mouthful of dark hair because he was grinning so stupidly--Levi felt--no--not warm, but _hot_ in his arms, and his body was so strong, so powerful, so good. The bougainvillea wallpaper and the dark wood panelling and the red carpet under his feet; he memorized those. The way Levi smelled. The perfect tactile sensation of cloth under his fingers, of warm skin and muscle and bone.

And Levi was holding him back, _tight,_ because he had been afraid; because he had been afraid for Eren, afraid of being parted from him in some final and irretrievable way, and he was _glad_ to have him back. For this one moment it did not even matter how Levi really felt, or if he loved him, or if he ever would. It mattered that he had been there, again, when it counted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback loved!!!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Nina's dress: http://i.ebayimg.com/00/s/ODEzWDU0MA==/$T2eC16FHJHwE9n8igsLzBRm13V!iC!~~60_1.JPG?set_id=2  
> Tina's dress: https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41bKMaDT-bL.jpg


	15. Historia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you are surprised to see me, eh? 
> 
> I am still here, grinding it out on this shitty RPG level of my life, waiting to level up. Hoping that SOMEWHERE at the end of this fucking rain cloud that has saturated me to the point where I can no longer feel my toes and my boots (much like Eren's, a few chapters ago) are squelching with every step, there is a FUCKING RAINBOW. 
> 
> I have received many kind messages from you, and I have been touched by all of them (including the ones I have not had time to respond to yet!) If you are still reading this (or any of my stories!) thank you. I think about them every day, every day I try to work on them. And when I unexpectedly get a message that says you are thinking of me--thinking of my stories--I am touched, genuinely and to the core. What a marvel it is that two people can be connected in this way.
> 
> So thank you. I hope you keep reading. I have lots more to write.

 

 

 

 

“Historia?”

She grunted without looking up.

The door opened, and Eren peered in, blinking in the dimnity.

“Can I come in?”

She grunted again.

She had taken charge of a shed behind the house, swept and cleared it of cobwebs and alarmed spiders, abandoned birds’ nests, and a particularly vicious and dragon-like rat with its hoard of bones and eggshell bits and broken eggspoons. She had found the pottery wheel under a sheet in the attic, and begun throwing clay.  
Though it had been years since she had sat at a wheel--oh, really, done _anything_ with her hands. She had grown up with a smattering of lessons in watercolor, photography, weaving, embroidery (along with night sailing, elocution, archery, fencing--everything an exiled and forgotten princess might need), but pottery had been the only thing she had pursued further in college, taking it as an elective when she could spare the time. It had fallen away without her noticing. Like so many things.

Eren crouched awkwardly in a corner--there wasn’t really room for two in here. She pushed her thumb into the wet clay, fixing it with a practiced careful look. This was the best moment. Better even than taking a glazed piece finished from the kiln. Taking the raw clay, pressing her thumb in, and letting it take form. 

For a while there was silence, apart from the humming of the wheel and the rasp of Historia’s fingers. When it was finished Historia regarded it with something like pleasure--another marvel. When she did this it sometimes did not even feel as though her hands belonged to her. She was someone else. She liked it.

She stood up and wiped her hands on a rag.

“What is it?” she said.

He looked at her a little sheepishly. “I thought, maybe…”

“What?” She slid a wire underneath the pot, her brow furrowed in care, before turning and placing it on the shelf behind her.

“I--you haven’t had any ideas?” he said, his voice trailing off hopefully.

“Ideas,” she repeated torn between bemusement and exasperation.

“I--” he said, and he sighed again, struggling with something he did not--or could not--put into words.

“Eren...” she said. _Don’t waste my time._

“Do you ever practice divination?” he asked.

She gave him a surprised look. “No,” she said. “I’ve tried.” Everybody did, some time. Human beings were hopeful animals. Though from what she understood true prophecy was rare, and those blessed--or cursed--with it were more likely to do all they could to conceal it, from the world as well as themselves. “It’s like looking into inky water for me. I never see anything.” She perched on her stool so they were almost nose to nose. “Why?”

“Sometimes...” he said, “When I ask the Tarot it tells me things. The last two months since the siege started I can’t get anything. It’s just...random cards. They don’t mean anything. You look surprised.”

“Well--yes,” she said. “I didn’t know--I mean, you don’t seem like the type.”

He gave a little laugh. “They were really answers,” he said. “It’s not just for charlatans and hucksters.”

She nodded, unconvinced. 

“Well--since the siege started I’ve been asking every day. At least once a day--but like I said I wasn’t getting answers. It was--different. There was no intention with the cards...No _meaning_. Today I asked again. And--” he was kneeling in front of her--carefully he took three cards out of his pocket and laid them in her lap.

“That’s me,” he said, laying down the Knight of Swords. “That’s Levi.” The Ten of Wands. “And that’s you.” The last card was the High Priestess. “I asked it how to end the siege. And this is what it said.”

Her hands were relatively clean, but she picked the High Priestess card up by its edges, as delicately as if it were a flower. _This is me?_ she thought of saying. There were all sorts of ways of looking at the world, but a few months ago she would have written this off. Now, after all her experiences in the North...it was harder to dismiss. 

_Me?_ she thought again. The woman’s serene mask would have been nice. Better than the inner chaos she struggled with daily. Better than the dreams haunted by her missing lover. Then again, perhaps it was just a mask. Perhaps the High Priestess was as lost as she was.

“I don’t know, Eren,” she said, not unkindly, handing him back the card. “If this is a thing, I think it’s _your_ thing. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about it. I haven’t had any ideas,” she added. “I wish I had.”

He nodded glumly, as if this admission were disappointing but expected. They have tried--they have all tried--they have done nothing but try--to break the siege. The city is beyond their reach now, buffeted by powerful magic. The people inside are safe from the dangers without as long as the wards hold--Levi’s wards. The ones that he and Eren set, nearly a year ago, and Eren can remember how terrifyingly ignorant he was, to think that Levi was overreacting to go to such lengths, that he was only being paranoid.

After all, what could threaten the city on such a scale?

Thousands of Titans. Old Magic. But that wasn’t what would kill them. Levi’s wards would hold long after the people inside had starved.

Nothing any of them can do--not Eren, or Levi, or Historia--not all his friends, not the brightest minds in the Survey Corp--can tilt the balance. Oh, they’ve _tried_. Hanji and Erwin and Levi and Mike--they’ve all been battering the curious Old Magic barrier with spells. They’ve been ransacking the libraries, working in shifts to search every tome of ancient lore, every scrap and scroll of parchment. They’ve all stayed up late into the night, talking and arguing and trying to find some kind of hook that will let them through.

Nothing’s worked. Eren stared at the cards. Another puzzle--he, and Historia, and Levi--they can do this. They would do this. Though he didn’t yet know how.

 

 

 

 

After Eren left her--she had suggested he ask Levi, but he had scoffed; apparently Levi didn’t encourage Eren’s interest in the Tarot--she walked out into the fallow field behind the house. The pot needed to dry before she could fire it, and she had nothing else pressing. The North was uneasy with the siege in the city; the boundary stones were quiet and all the monsters seemed to be hidden away. She walked slow, letting her mind wander, letting her hands drift over soft cottony flowers bobbing in the breeze.

The North was a wonderful place for rambling. You could walk for miles without ever seeing another person. She would miss that when she left--as she must, eventually. She hadn’t had much use for Eren lately, or for anyone, except perhaps Levi.

Eren, for all his childish petty jealousy wasn’t exactly _wrong._ She _was_ interested, the way any woman would be happening upon some diamond in the rough. She had glanced twice at some pretty unexpected thing in a shop window, only for some other woman--or man, in the case of Eren--to descend, frothing with irrational fury: _No, that’s_ mine _you can’t have it, I’m saving up for it…_

She wasn’t angry with him. She had never been one for grubbing in the dirt, but neither had she ever possessed a treasure. If Ymir were still here…

She had not known Ymir for very long, and there were moments she caught herself bewildered by it. _Ymir has been gone now longer than I knew her._ How was it possible she could be hurt by so brief a love?

What was Levi to her? A thing Eren could not perceive or understand. Levi was solace. He was proof that you could be hurt and survive. You could not know him very long and not know that. 

He was _proof._ Saying it to herself--alone, late at night in bed when she couldn’t sleep--reduced the rage to something small and manageable and banal and inaccurate. But it kept her from screaming.

She knew now that she would not see Ymir again, that Ymir was dead, not across the sea and trapped in some unknowable fairy land at all. She was dead--had probably been dead before Historia had even realized she was missing. That hurt to think about, so she saved it for the times she wanted to scrape herself raw.

In some other future Levi could have comforted her, she could have comforted him. She didn’t love him wildly, the way Eren did. No. The great love of her life was gone. It was something she had only realized _slowly._ After Ymir had gone. What a cruel joke to be in love and never know it. 

With Levi it was a certain care, a respect, an _understanding._ They could have been content. She could have been mistress of the North--she thought she would have liked that. A way to put her all her odd skills and education to use, to be more than the useless forgotten relic she was in the city. And she could have given him children--he wanted them, you only had to see him with Shaw to know it.

But Eren had to put his head in, a barking dog in the manger, and _growl_ and she had made an exasperated show of backing off to appease him. She wanted to shake him. She didn’t know what was in Levi’s mind--who could?--but Eren wasn’t doing himself any favors. 

Levi didn’t need a paramour. He needed a consort. That was obvious to her, as it would have been to any decently educated exiled head of state. You had to care about your people, even if they didn’t care about you. _Especially_ if they didn’t care about you. 

Whatever Levi’s heart might want, he had to think of duty. She understood that.

Eren was volatile and impetuous, but he could be taught. He was stubborn. He was kind. He had the makings of a good lord...

She had reached the woods, and she heard the children’s voices before she saw them.

“Wenlock Street,” the girl said, slowly, as if tasting the words. “Where do you think that is?”

The boy shrugged, not looking up from the book he was reading.

“Hello,” Historia said. “That’s a funny looking mailbox.”

The girl startled, looking up at Historia in wide-eyed alarm. The boy did not move.

Historia smiled encouragingly. After a moment the girl said, “Yes...we found it here in the woods. It’s from another world. This mail is too--we think it goes inside, only some of the names aren’t on here.”

“Probably,” the boy said, “a mailman got pulled along too, and something ate him. We found his keys.”

“Shaw! You don’t know that. He might just be having an adventure! He might come back. If he does we should put his mail away, so he can bring it back with him.”

Shaw scoffed. “If he’s smart enough to survive in the North he’s not going to want to go back to being a _mailman_. And if he’s he’s dead then it doesn’t matter.”

The girl scowled at him.

“Can _I_ help you?” Historia asked coming forward. The little girl brightened. 

“Yes, thanks!”

“I’m Historia,” she said, coming closer still and reaching for a handful of letters. Their fingers brushed--the girl’s hands were warm and real. Not ghostly at all. And she had to be at least five or six--men! They were never any good at guessing children’s ages.

“I’m Sirena,” the girl said.

Well, Eren would be pleased to hear that at least.

“Sirena,” she said. “Your friend, I know. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced yet though.” She sifted through the letter pile, displaying a keen interest she did not feel. “But you lived at the Gatehouse, once, didn’t you?”

“Well, no, not exactly,” the girl said. “I _will_ live there though.” Shaw made some sort of noise--disagreement, or perhaps inquiry. “Well, maybe,” she said, and he nodded approvingly. 

Historia bit her lower lip, and managing to keep her voice reasonably serious she said, “Well, let’s see these keys then."

 

 

 

 

She arrived back at the house hours later, though she had spent only a little time with the children before they had tired of her and run off. She hadn’t been able to get much sense out of them, not the kind Eren wanted, anyway. But then Eren wouldn’t tell her his real interest in them--the girl in particular--so she hadn’t felt compelled to bestir herself as much as she might have. 

_And now who’s being petty?_

She closed the gate behind her and blinked into the setting sun. When she turned around she was facing that oft-unused side of the house, the one she’d seen on her first arrival. And--strangely--Levi was there, anxious and pacing.

He didn’t even see her. “Levi?” she called to him.

He turned to look at her then, older and unhappier than she’d ever seen him.

_Eren,_ she thought, filled with a sick horror as she hurried to him.

“What is it?” she asked, taking his hands (a thing she had never thought or dared to do). They were cold.

Levi shook his head, as if unable to speak. Then in a small voice, cold and furious, he said, “You haven’t had any brilliant new insights have you?”

“No,” she said, startled. If he had been in a different mood she might have said something about Eren, asking her the same question only that afternoon.

He was white--almost shaking. 

“Sit down,” she said, quietly. “Come on. What is it?” he didn’t answer, but she tugged him over to a bench. “Can you tell me? _Can_ you?”

He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “They have...decided...on a course of action that will break the siege.”

The brittle finality of it chilled her. She drew back from him just a little, from the pain and quiet fury on his face.

“But--what?” she said, bewildered. He spoke as if there had been some viable plan all along, instead of all of them endlessly banging their heads against a wall. “What--we’ve tried everything.”

“No,” he said. “Not everything.”

“I don’t--”

“Blood sacrifice. They won’t tell me who it is. They drew straws. I think it’s Hanji, fuck!” he shouted the last, stood up and began pacing again. She was so stunned by the beginning of his speech that the last screamed obscenity had no effect on her at all.

Now Levi was talking, for him what was a torrent pouring forth. She put one delicate white hand on her face, leaning back against the wooden bench. _A blood sacrifice._ No, it was impossible. She could not believe it.

“You say...they’ve been talking about doing this. Planning the whole time. In secret.”

He sat down again--as if his raving had worn him out. “They were trying to find another way. Any other way. I begged them not to do this. They don’t understand. It’s my fault.”

“Yours?” she said, blinking at him. She shook her head.

“They don’t understand,” he repeated, staring back at her. “They don’t understand what it will do.” 

“What will it do?”

“Destroy them,” he whispered. “Destroy everything good in them...every part that matters. There is no victory this way. Only victory for _him.”_

“You...you did this before,” she said, feeling another sick tilt of the world on his axis.

He didn’t answer right away. “Not this...no. I wouldn’t have done this. Not even for them.”

“Levi,” she said. She touched his hand again, hesitantly this time.

“We have to find another way,” he said. “They’re going to gather everyone together for one last shitty brainstorming session before they fucking murder someone, the fucking willing sacrificial lamb. We have twelve hours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is loved <3


	16. The First King

 

 

 _You should ask him. He might know something._

“He won’t talk to me about the Tarot,” Eren muttered.

_Go and ask him anyway._

 

 

 

“Levi,” Historia said suddenly. She cleared her throat. Her voice sounded high and worried--histrionic. “Shaw said--he said you had a way back into the city.” She hadn’t believed Shaw. If there _was_ a way back, Levi surely would have used it by now.

“Yes,” Levi said, after a moment.

She looked at him, bewildered. “You mean--he was telling the truth? Then why haven’t you--”

“Because if we go through we don’t come back,” he said. “It’s one-way, one-time. If we go through it without any other plan we’ll be stuck there too. What else did Shaw say?”

“Have you seen him?”

“No. Not--lately.”

“The girl was with him too. Sirena.”

Levi didn’t answer. She thought back to her encounter with the children--

_“Do you know what’s going on back there?” she’d asked Shaw. “We haven’t seen much of you lately.”_

_“Yes,” he had said. “The city’s under siege.” He’d sounded so unconcerned she couldn’t help a small smile._

_“Do you know who’s doing it?” she’d asked on a whim._

_He had grunted. “Old Scratch,” he’d said, and he’d turned the book he was reading towards her. On the page was an illustrated full-color plate from the Tarot, from the same deck Eren had shown her that morning._

_The Devil._

Slowly she recounted it all, trying to fit the pieces together as she did.

“That seems...more than just a coincidence,” she said. Levi had been characteristically silent through the telling. “Do you think there’s something there?”

“It’s an iconography,” Levi said. “You can call us whatever you want. It doesn’t change what we are.” He meant the cards that Eren had said represented them--The High Priestess. The Ten of Wands. The Knight of Swords.

 _Notice he doesn't actually say no,_ she thought sourly. “But Eren’s--message, or whatever you want to call it. It said we could fix things…the three of us.”

“But not how.”

“Well--no.”

“Then what good is it? Is it telling us anything we don’t already know? I told him not to rely on it so heavily.”

She groaned and rubbed her face. “All right. Let’s go through this. The wards you and Eren set last year--without them, he’d be able to break through. The _Devil_. Old Scratch. Right?”

“Yes.”

“So can we do anything to make them stronger? Go through your hidden door and back to the city, reinforce them somehow? Kick him out for good?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I already made them as strong as I could,” Levi said. He traced a golden arc in the air, and a little spark of lights lit up showing a map. Historia stared at it, a 3D tracery of the city with the leylines etched in gold. She had seen it many times in the months since the siege had started, but she had never looked at it so urgently. “There’s only one thing I can think of that would strengthen them the way you’re talking about. I discussed it with the others--they agreed. It’s a dead end.”

“Well, what is it?” she said eagerly.

“Finding the First King’s bones.”

She stared at him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Why him? Why not another royal family member--why not _me?”_

Levi was shaking his head. “It has to be him. The bones we used in the library, they were warriors from the city’s foundation. The first families. The _actual_ first families, the ones who sailed here from the Old Continent and created the boundary stones. That’s why the spell took so well. I wasn’t casting it for the first time, I was renewing it. _He_ is the originator. The Magician King.”

“Well--” Historia threw her arms out. “Then can we find him?” But she knew it was impossible. Surely no one knew more about the royal family than she did, she thought bleakly. She was its last surviving member. But where the First King could be--if he had even been buried, and not just burned--she had no idea. Truth to tell, she hadn’t ever believed he was real. He had always seemed purely mythical. 

“Hanji and Armin have been going through the libraries looking for any mention of him anyway. Just in case there was something everybody’s been missing all this time,” Levi said with heavy irony. 

“Nothing, huh,” Historia said. “Not even a name.”

“Especially not that,” Levi said. 

“Well, fuck,” Historia said.

 

 

 

 

She went to Eren anyway--so what if Levi thought his occult dabbling was untoward, these were _desperate times_ \--knocking frantically on his bedroom door and then barreling past when he opened it. She told him everything, pacing madly: Shaw, Sirena, her conversation with Levi, the dreadful clock that was even now ticking down.

He didn’t say a word--just rubbed his wrist over and over and stared out of the window until she wanted to slap him.

“What’s the matter with you!” she exploded. “Hanji could be dead tomorrow--or any of them! A blood magic sacrifice, for fuck’s sake!” When he still didn’t answer she shook her head. “Unbelievable. Are you--what is this, are you not talking to him or something?”

“No,” Eren said, still looking out the window. “I just need some time to think, Historia. Thanks for telling me.”

“But--” he gently ushered her out, and somehow she found herself standing outside of his room. He closed the door in her face--but _politely_ , if anyone could ever be polite about shutting a door in your face. “Well fuck you too!” she shouted, and kicked his door. Then she stormed off--to the library, to find Armin or Mikasa, to do _something._

 

 

 

 

“She told me everything,” Eren said quietly to the empty room.

_Not everything. You saw them together._

He had gone down to Levi’s study to look for him. He had walked up to the enormous windows behind the desk. And he had found him, sitting there--Levi, under the dogwood tree in the seldom used garden. Embracing Historia. Being embraced by Historia. 

He had been able to hear most of their conversation quite well--Levi had considerately left the window open a crack, for the benefit of passing eavesdroppers. They hadn’t seen him. The study was above ground level, and he was at an angle invisible to them. Anyway, they had been engrossed in each other.

_Old Scratch._

He found the card and studied it. He hadn’t told Historia--but he had asked the deck earlier, _Who is it?_ Who was their enemy? Who was it they needed to defeat?

_A beast chaining up a man and woman. Keeping them apart. Do you know anyone like that, Eren?_

 

 

 

 

Later that night he found Levi in the corridor outside of the library. Everyone else had to be inside, feverishly searching, and Eren stared at the closed wooden doors so that he wouldn’t have to look at _him_. Levi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, angry and miserable. When Eren did finally find the courage to look at him some other emotion overcame him, surpassing even his jealousy.

He went to Levi, pressed his whole body against him, and pushed him against the wall. Loving him as well as he knew how. Levi held him back just as hard. 

“She wasn’t supposed to tell you,” Levi said. His voice was rough. His lips were almost touching Eren’s ear. Eren swallowed.

“You told her though.” He tried not to make it sound accusatory.

“I had to,” he said, defeated. “In case she knew anything.”

“About the First King?”

“Yes.”

 _I love you,_ Eren thought. _If you can be happy with her, that’s enough._ He didn’t let go; neither did Levi. Only when the library door began to creak open did they break apart, and then it was only to walk further away, into the darkness of an unused room, pushing open French doors that led onto an outside patio. 

Wanting to say something--anything--Eren said, “Historia saw Sirena.” It was the one good he’d taken away from the conversation. Though somehow, saying it out loud--it lacked the conviction it had had in his head.

Levi frowned. “Historia is Far-Seeing,” he said, after a moment. 

Eren didn’t say anything. Far-Seeing, that meant-- 

_You know what it means, it means she can talk to ghosts as if they were still alive._

“No,” he said, shaking his head in denial. “She never--”

“She doesn’t know. It’s not...something she would have had much opportunity to find out in the city. And it’s not something that comes through the royal line. She must have got it from her mother.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Eren--” Levi reached out. It was dark out here--Eren turned his head away. Levi’s hand was warm on Eren’s neck, his thumb pressed into the divot at his collarbone. “It’s not your fault. What happened to her wasn’t your fault.”

 _It is my fault,_ and,

_I want to kiss you--_

Disgust and anger with himself welled up; longing for the man in front of him. Here was Levi on the worst night of his life, still trying to comfort _him_.

“I wish things were different,” he found himself saying.

Levi’s grip on him tightened, his thumb pressing hard enough that Eren could feel every atom. He swallowed. Levi’s skin was rough. A little dry. A sharp place that might have been a scar, or--

_If you turn your head,_ he said, _your mouth will be on his palm. If you kiss him there. You know he won’t stop you. What happens after?_

____

____

_Are you not talking to him? _Historia had demanded in frustration. Well, no, not exactly. It was just that he wanted to fuck him; that was different. It was harder to keep under wraps lately. It was hard to reconcile what he wanted with what he knew.__

__

__

_The Devil. A beast, keeping a man and woman chained up: apart. Do you know anyone like that, Eren?_

He did not turn his head.

 ____ _ _

____ _ _

____ _ _

____It was a bad meeting. Historia sat on the edge of her chair, gritting her teeth as she listened to the same arguments, the same refutations. Levi had warned her not to say anything to the others._ _ _ _

____“But why? Everyone should know--”_ _ _ _

____“Because that’s what Erwin has decided,” Levi said tiredly. “And because we don’t know who we can trust.”_ _ _ _

____“But everyone here--”_ _ _ _

____“Do you know much about blood magic?”_ _ _ _

____She made a face. “Not much. A little.”_ _ _ _

____“What they intend to do--if _he_ finds out, he can take countermeasures,” Levi said. “Making their sacrifice pointless as well as stupid, and blocking the only possibility of breaking the siege.”_ _ _ _

____“All the more reason to do it then,” she’d said under her breath._ _ _ _

____But in the end she had kept quiet, staying up long after Armin and the others had gone to bed. Part of her had _wanted_ to say something--to infect them with her own sense of urgency. Levi hadn’t told her there were other reasons Erwin wanted to keep them in the dark, but he hadn’t needed to. One last razzmatazz, one last epic _brainstorming_ , and after Erwin had reminded everyone, convinced everyone how _truly hopeless and dire_ their situation was, well maybe then blood magic and human sacrifice would be a little more palatable!_ _ _ _

____There were all sorts of texts in the library, ancient codices she’d read about, but never seen. There were copies of these books in the palace library--her grandfather would have been able to read them at his leisure, until they’d cut off his head. But these texts weren’t among the things the family had carted off when they’d gone into exile--no, they had brought jewelry, magic swords, paintings and carpets, enchanted mounted moose heads--but not many books._ _ _ _

____There were pictures that she’d never seen of the First King here, illuminated among the manuscripts. But were they really _him?_ They were rather primitive and Everyman-ish (though that was the style of the period, she supposed.) She had always assumed that the First King had been a myth, and that was why there was no record of his name, no holiday of his birth, no landmark of his burial place. But no; Armin had explained otherwise last night. _ _ _ _

____She had reiterated what Levi had said. If they could only find the First King’s bones--_ _ _ _

____“We can’t though,” Armin interrupted. “We don’t even know his name. He had himself wiped from the historical record so no one _would_ ever be able to find him. He _was_ clever,” Armin said with reluctant admiration, looking at the book Historia held open in front of them. “He knew that it would be a temptation for future magicians to invoke him, and exploit any trace of him left behind.”_ _ _ _

____“He must have left _some_ trace,” Historia said stubbornly. “What do you mean, invoke?”_ _ _ _

____“Death magic,” Armin said after a moment. “Most death magic is…” he waved a hand. Small potatoes. “But if you had the bones of the guy who basically founded the world...well…”_ _ _ _

____Historia’s eyes widened. “But there’s a prohibition!”_ _ _ _

____“There is…” Armin said. “But if you were the kind of person that would do that, a prohibition wouldn’t mean much to you anyway.”_ _ _ _

____“Augh,” she muttered in disgust. The taboo on disturbing the dead was strong; what Eren and Levi had done back in the city library, that was something else. You could _call_ on the dead, of course; you could leave them libations and trinkets, ask grandma for her secret poundcake recipe, ask Uncle Pete to stop haunting the lavatory _please,_ because frankly it was getting creepy, ask sleeping warriors from the _Primus_ generation to wake up and renew the wards protecting the city. The dead might respond, or they might not. They were fickle--when they were reachable at all. _ _ _ _

____But the idea of someone, digging through bones--_ _ _ _

_grind them up to bake your bread--_

____Just...using them to increase their own power, with no regard for the person they’d once belonged to; that was rape, cannibalism, even another kind of murder all rolled into one. It made her skin crawl._ _ _ _

____“Who would do that?” she asked, rhetorically._ _ _ _

____“Dark magicians,” Armin said with a shrug. “People who only care about their own power, without regard for anyone else.”_ _ _ _

____“Do you think he did have his bones burned?” Historia asked. There was almost no chance of finding any trace of him, if that were the case. But it would have been the wise thing to do, if that had been his aim._ _ _ _

____“I don’t know...” Armin said. “My gut says no. I can’t say why, because he _was_ clever, and thorough. But maybe that’s why. Because if he had burned his body, would he have needed to be?”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____ _ _

____ _ _

Historia looked around the table. Had any of her friends noticed the squad leaders were rather more somber than usual today? That Levi was quietly furious at his end of the table, that Eren was staring into space like someone had replaced his brains with rice pudding? That _she_ was a mess or raw nerves and anxiety?

____No--she didn’t think they had. Hanji had been working on a new project--something with crystals and astral projection--and phantom-y images of members of the military high command were sitting at the table with them. This was the first time she had attempted it this way, and there were hiccups--the images of the missing men (and they were all men, she thought sourly) flickered and disappeared for seconds at a time. One of them--she didn’t know who he was, hadn’t caught his name during the introductions--had been watching her._ _ _ _

____The whole thing gave her the creeps (why today, of all days, did Hanji have to test it? But of course she knew--all their usual methods of communication had been blocked, and they had a lot to cover. If this really was Erwin’s last hurrah before committing a mortal sin then he’d want to cover all his bases, give every one a chance to speak. Hell, maybe he even had enough morality left that he wanted to be talked out of it…) but this unknown man was the worst. She was used to being stared at--she had always been beautiful, and had always considered it more of a nuisance than an asset. But there was something about the way he was doing it--maybe because he was being subtle instead of obvious about it. But he knew that she knew--she could just tell somehow. And yet he kept doing it. Like he thought he was winning. And what kind of person did that? Kept gawking, kept spying after they’d been caught?_ _ _ _

An asshole, that’s who. 

 

 

____ _ _

_It doesn’t have to be Hanji. It doesn’t have to be any of them._

_What?_

He was tired, but he couldn’t sleep at all. He told himself it was the heat--he had thrown his windows open and his blankets were on the floor. 

_You know._

_What do I know? I don’t know anything._

But the voice had gone quiet. He rolled to his side. _Say what you mean,_ he wanted to say, but the voice was gone, or maybe it had never been there at all.

__

__

_What good am I doing up here anyway?_

Long pause after that thought; he thought involuntarily of Levi and Historia embracing in the garden. She can take care of the North; she’s better at it than I ever was. He likes her. 

He had only drowsed a little that night, passing the hours in a fog of guilt and shame. That morning he was in a kind of trance. 

_Sacrifice? Is that what you’re talking about?_

But the voice--if there had ever been a voice (and of course there hadn’t been, that was just his imagination) didn’t answer. 

He fell into a kind of waking dream as they argued. Historia wasn’t the only one assessing the room, weighing what each person knew and understood. He knew which of his friends were bored, which were anxious, which were impatient to be anywhere else. He could feel Levi’s anger from here. 

_Levi would never let me._ He knew that--somehow it was irrefutable. 

_But you could do it without telling him. You could do it without any of them knowing--until it was too late to stop._

_But--_ and then it seemed as if he really was asleep--at least he had dropped down a level in his own mind. He was walking down a hallway… 

 

 

____ _ _

Historia had her hand clamped around a pen. She stared at it while they talked, she heard Erwin’s voice but not the words he was saying. She waited for it, the axe that would fall, the moment that would separate what had come before from what would come after. Had there been a moment like this, she wondered, when the conspirators had decided to overthrow the monarchy? A whole series of moments, as they’d first deposed the king, then executed him, then outlawed magic and imprisoned anyone who had refused to obey them? 

“I think,” Erwin was saying, “we’ll take a break for lunch...and reconvene…” 

She unclenched her hand--it left marks behind--and looked over to Levi. Where was the pronouncement? Was this expected? Had Erwin had a change of heart? But Levi was unreadable. 

People were standing up, shuffling papers, murmuring to each other. Only a few people left in the room--one of them, unsettlingly, the starey creep, his image flickering as he pretended not to watch her. Hanji had left, and feeling petty she stood up and walked by the little crystal apparatus on her end of the table and gave it a good jostle. His image abruptly vanished. 

_Good,_ she thought nastily. _Go and stare at someone else for a while._

Eren had been sitting with his eyes closed for a while--though how he could sleep she had no idea. They were the only two people left in the room. Suddenly he jerked, gasped, stared right at her without seeing her.

Her eyes widened. She shot across the room and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“You know something,” she said. Not asleep then. In a trance…

“The First King,” he whispered. “I know where they buried him.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is loved! <3
> 
> Also, thank you for all the previous comments and messages <3 They are lovely.


	17. The Unbroken Chain

The day the siege had started Hanji and her squad had ridden over to the Northern Gatehouse on bicycles, taking winding roads unaffected by the magical disruption in the city. Very early that morning (or perhaps very late the night before) all her devices had gone off at once; the lab had erupted into cacophony as the machines spun and clacked and chimed. Hanji had stumbled into the lab, still wearing her pajamas and fumbling her glasses onto her face. She had picked up a stack of grid paper from the floor--it was still pouring out, having overflowed its tray--and had let out a dull groan of horror followed by a stream of cursing. She had realized what was happening right away, and just as quickly realized there was nothing they could immediately do to stop it.

She rode in front, frowning, thinking. Moblit was a little behind and to her left, Nifa, Laura, and the others a little further back than that. When they passed the border of the North she stopped suddenly at the top of a rise, before the road curved and dipped down. She heard the others brake behind her. A herd of white deer browsed in a field behind an ancient crumbling stone wall. Hanji stopped for a long moment, and the deer gazed back at her incuriously.

"Hanji?" Moblit was touching her hand, his voice low.

"I'm all right," she said. She went back up on her bicycle and sailed down the hill, the others coming along after her.

“Levi!” she hollered up from the bottom of the driveway. Her long gangly stride quickly ate up the distance between them. Moblit hurried to catch her bike before it fell.

He was watering a patch of flowers, and he didn't look up at her approach.

“Have you talked to Erwin? I couldn’t get through to him.”

“He’s here. Inside. They all are.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Eren was in the city last night.”

“Jesus, Levi!”

“I got him out,” Levi said. “Just in time.”

“Jesus,” she repeated breathlessly and glanced quickly behind at her rapidly approaching squad. She had been agitated all morning, from the moment the first alarms had first gone off and she'd jumped out of bed--but she suddenly remembered her dream and her anxiety ratcheted up to a new intensity. Her nightmare, the one she had told Levi about. She hadn't had it since, but even now the thought of those trees... She called out, “Erwin’s here! Go inside--go and put those around back.”

To Levi--quietly--she said, “Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer directly. “What happened to your chickens? They haven’t been fucking with my flowers lately.”

“Hah. Funny you should mention that today--an emissary from the cats came by this morning, asking if they could have them--”

“You gave them to the cats?”

“Well--” Hanji spread her hands. “We had sort of exhausted all the avenues for useful research. And they do eat a lot.”

“And shit a lot.”

“That too.”

“What did the cats want with them? Dinner?”

“They didn’t say,” Hanji said, looking slightly guilty. “How did you get Eren out?”

He had finished with the flowers, and he tapped the empty watering can against his thigh. He looked unhappy and pale and troubled. None of which was surprising considering the state of things, but she suspected it wasn't only the siege he was upset about.

“The Back Way?” she prompted impatiently.

He shook his head, ever so slightly. “It wouldn’t have worked,” he muttered. “There wasn’t time. I built a bridge.”

“A _bridge!?”_ she hissed.

“Historia helped me,” he said with a trace of defensiveness.

She could only gape at him. As far as she knew, the last recorded attempt had been nearly 300 years ago. 

It had not been successful. You could still see the bones of one of the participants preserved in the stone walls of the university. They had never found the other one. 

“I had a shortcut.”

“Levi--”

“I had to get him out,” Levi said, quietly.

Hanji squinted at him. “Why?”

“Because he wants Eren. I don’t know why. But something happened last night, and he was willing to push his plans forward to get at him.”

She shook her head in dismay. “Why is Eren so important? It can’t just be his magic?”

“I don’t know,” Levi said quietly. “Historia is mixed up in this too. He wants both of them.”

“Well, that’s ominous,” she said, rubbing her chin. “You told Erwin?”

He didn’t answer.

“Levi!”

“He hasn’t asked me directly.”

Hanji was unswayed. “Last I checked we were still on the same damn team!”

“Can you tell me he won’t make the same mistakes?” Levi asked her with a quiet ferocity. “Did he learn anything from their deaths?”

She stared back at him unhappily.

“I...won’t let him use them as bait,” Levi said quietly. “If that puts me at odds, with leadership...I think Mike will stand with him, don’t you? But I can hold the North.”

“God damn it, Levi!" she said, appalled. "What do you want me to say? Tell you I’ll commit treason with you?”

“Of course not.”

And she knew that it was true, much as it sunk her to be put in between them. Levi wasn’t asking for complicity or compliance. If she went to Erwin _now_ and told him all she knew then Levi wouldn’t hold it against her. He was warning her because they _were_ friends. And what did that mean? Did it mean that he and Erwin weren’t? _I don’t want to answer that,_ she thought bleakly.

“They both asked me for sanctuary, Hanji. You understand? He doesn’t.”

 

 

 

 

Eren’s friends--Mikasa, Armin, Sasha, Connie, Jean--were all pressed into service during those first few days. Levi watched Mikasa teach them the basics of the maneuver gear, he watched Historia and Eren teach them basic wards. 

He thought he had their measure by the end of that first week, and it gave him a peculiar mix of sadness and nostalgia. He was aware just as Eren was that the North had its own agenda, that even _he_ had been brought here because the North had willed it. 

He remembered how he had assembled and trained his first squad.

It hurt to see them bicker and play and work together. It brought out memories he had put away, and made them fresh. More than once he caught Eren anxiously watching him, especially during those first weeks. But his concern was misplaced. It wasn’t that he minded the new faces. It was only that they reminded him of the old ones.

They _were_ good kids. Eager to learn once they realized their stay was unlikely to be a short one, tough, motivated. They had known each other for years, and that translated well to working and training together. 

He was aware of the whole delicate balance; like some strange celestial confluence. Wheels or gears or orbits each turning at their own intractable pace. What he had experienced since coming here, more than anything, was that mysteries were revealed in their own time. There was an inevitable fatalism life forced on you, but knowing people-- _his_ people, _their_ people--were trapped in the city, at the mercy of this unknown lunatic--was driving him mad. 

He didn’t read the Tarot, but he could read the signs as well as anyone. This wasn’t his fight. Not Hanji’s, not even Erwin’s. They all had parts to play, but they were not the Players; they were on stand-by, maybe they even had Speaking Parts, but they had to wait off stage until the main action took place and they heard their cues.

And then that horrible meeting with Hanji and Mike and Erwin had happened, when they had told him what they planned to do and he had second-guessed everything. Not just one decision but _all_ of them, staggered by the horror of it, seeing his life telescoped down to this single awful point. He had not told Erwin all he knew because he had not wanted to put Eren and Historia at risk. And by doing so...he met Hanji's eyes bleakly, but she looked back at him almost with complacence. It would have been better if she had told Erwin herself. Then he would not have had to choose: who to protect.

Who to sacrifice.

If he spoke now he was dooming them, and if he kept quiet he was dooming her.

When Historia and Eren came up to him in the hallway he straightened and looked over his shoulder.

They were alone.

 _Enter Levi, stage left,_ he thought wearily.

“He knows where--” Historia started to say, unnecessarily, and he waved her to silence and led them both down the hall to his office. His heart was beating fast in his chest, it was impossible--impossible. But let it be true anyway. Let it be true. He closed the door. 

“You’re sure?” he asked Eren, before either of them could say another word.

Eren opened his mouth, but Levi laid two fingers over his lips. Eren’s eyes went wide. Levi saw his throat move; then he nodded.

He gave himself the luxury of examining Eren properly. _You know,_ he thought, _you know what we all know to be impossible. It shouldn’t be, and yet I believe you…_

Then--because they might not have time later--he reached for Eren again, cupping his cheek in his palm.

“Good,” he whispered, “good.” Hoping it was enough. Hoping Eren understood. 

He went to a shelf on one of the bookcases and began picking up vases. He gave each one a careful shake, listening in a way that made Historia extremely uncomfortable. 

“Must you?” she was about to say, when Levi picked one up that rattled, and then he abruptly threw it at the floor.

She nearly screamed. It smashed into a thousand tiny pieces, and he reached down among the wreckage to pick up a tiny golden key.

“That was a _priceless vase from ancient Qyong-Yang!”_ she yelled.

There was a tapestry on the opposite wall of a unicorn running through a forest, and he pulled up one corner of it to reveal a door. 

“It was,” he agreed. “Come, now,” and he put the key into the lock and turned it.

 

 

 

 

Moments later a door opened in The Long Gallery at military central command. This was where the military displayed paintings of victories and battles, alongside busts of the long-dead generals who'd won (or sometimes lost) them. Towards the far end of the room there hung a tapestry that no one had ever dared to move, even after the coup. It was enormous and ancient, and it showed a unicorn goring a centaur. A hand appeared from behind one corner of the tapestry, lifting it up, and three people cautiously emerged. The door they had come through instantly vanished.

“This is HQ,” Levi said, taking in the deserted room. He turned to Eren. “Where are we going?”

“The library,” Eren said.

Levi looked surprised, but he nodded. Historia was fingering the straps of her maneuver gear nervously. “We should fly,” she said softly. “Something feels wrong here.”

Eren walked across the room and pulled at the catch on a tall window until it opened, soundless on its hinges and then the three of them were leaping out, up and moving high over the rooftops of the city.

The city was oddly deserted, although it was mid-day.

"I don't like this," Historia called out.

"No."

They landed on the gabled roof of the library.

"Eren?" Levi said.

"Chapel."

Levi frowned, but he led them to the nearest window. It was locked, so he smashed the top of in with the haft of his sword to unlatch it, and then they were all climbing through. "This way," he said softly when they were inside.

"There's nobody here," Historia said.

They crept through long empty rooms until they reached the chapel, and as soon as they were inside Levi closed his eyes. Historia put a small cool hand into his and they cast a ward over the room; it would keep out all but the most determined intruders.

"Here," Eren said from the center of the room.

 _There's nothing here..._ Levi thought. _We were here before. The only bones here are my ancestors, and the other families..._ He looked at Historia but she was watching Eren with eager certainty. She had come forward to take one of his hands, and she turned to look back at him expectantly. 

Not letting his doubts show he came forward, and the three of them linked hands. Forming a circle.

When he opened his eyes it was as though they hadn't left--they were still in the same room, in the same position. But they were no longer in the physical world. He looked around. Lucilla was watching him from her stained glass window, her hair ruffling in an unseen breeze.

"The sarcophagus," Eren said in a hushed voice. "You have to move it."

He blinked at Eren for a moment. He looked back at Lucilla, but she only gazed back inscrutably. Then he went to the spot Eren had indicated and he pushed on the Ackerman family monument. To his surprise it moved immediately, as easily as if it was on wheels. It slid to the side to reveal a hidden staircase in the floor.

He inhaled in surprise. "What?" he said. They began their descent; Historia and Eren in front.

 

 

 

 

When they emerged from the darkness of the staircase--Historia had been able to hear the ocean, distantly, as they'd walked down--they were in a room with more stained glass, but here there was only one sarcophagus. A marble statue of a sleeping man lay on top, hands folded over a sword held on his stomach. He wore a crown.

"Is that--" Historia said, and then she looked around, "Wait--where's Levi?"

"We didn't need him for this part," Eren said quietly. He was staring at the sleeping figure of the king. "Push on the sarcophagus, Historia. We're almost there."

She did with a little grunt, and as she moved it a second staircase in the floor was revealed. She gave him a look that was equal parts anticipation and worry. "How--how many are there?"

"A lot, I think," he said quietly. "I think before the King came from over the ocean there were other kings here...the Native people had a barrows here. That was why he chose it."

They walked down the staircase together, but when he emerged into the final room he was alone. He had known at once--as soon as they'd entered the chapel, levels up what was going to happen. A far cry from when Levi had first taken him here, through to the door of his own unconscious. He had known why Levi and Historia were here...but he still didn't know why _he_ was. Or why he had been the only one allowed this far. This room was empty, a flagstone floor that echoed as he walked across.

"Hello?"

There was stained glass here, too, but--it was all a shifty, cloudy dark unsettling color. He looked away.

A man stood behind him--old, stooped, white-haired. Dressed all in white-- _his shrouds_ , Eren thought and his heart beat fast and uneven.

He swallowed. "It's you..." he said, more to himself than the old man. "We need your help. We need you to help strengthen the wards. The city--the people--are in danger, they're under siege and--"

"The sins of the father," the old man murmured. "I didn't know. I didn't know I had a son."

"What?" Eren said. The old man began to walk forward--the room seemed to stretch and extend into darkness. Eren hurried after him. They were in another room--the walls dissolving, rearranging into something else. 

"I thought I could remake the world," he said. "Into something clean. I didn't know I had left behind a seed, to sprout poisoned fruit..."

"What?" Eren repeated. "We need your help," he said. "We need--"

There were people in the room, like they had come upon the set of a play. Eren started a little, seeing them--frozen, as if they were waiting for someone to call, 'Action!'

"Why did you choose me?" he asked the king's ghost. "Levi could open the first door because he's an Ackerman, and Historia opened the second one because she's royalty. But what did you need me for? Why couldn't you just have Historia talk to you?"

"The curse," he murmured.

"What?"

The old man put a finger to his lips.

The people began to move and talk. He couldn't understand at first; it sounded a little like the language he spoke, but a lot like something else. They were dressed in ancient clothing--long robes of ermine and velvet and heavily embroidered wool. He saw the king, though he appeared as a much younger man in his forties or fifties, along with a dozen others. Courtiers, he guessed. Guards. There was one woman present, and she was clearly a warrior. Dressed all in black, wearing tight trousers that disappeared into her boots, and a long black tunic. Her black, graying hair was cut short and severe, and it did not soften the hawk-like lines of her face at all. She wore a sword on her hip.

He studied her face. Then one of the man began to speak, and he could understand him.

"We don't have enough warriors to protect the walls," the man said. "My family lost fifteen men last year!"

An angry rumble of agreement from the others. It went on like this, until someone said, "What would you have us do, Cienad? Return to that godforsaken place? This is our home now. We protect it or we perish."

An angry argument broke out among the men. The king watched silently, his sharp gray eyes taking in everything, until the woman spoke.

"I will take the North," she said. "If some of you others will take the other gates."

The men fell silent. 

"Gates," one of them said--the oldest one. He sounded uneasy. "What do you mean, Nehilia?"

"You have seen them, if you have ventured there," she said calmly. "They are the doors to the spirit world. We can guard them, and build a wall between their world and ours. Protect the gates, and protect our world from their intrusion."

"And theirs from ours," someone said under their breath, but no one else seemed to have heard.

The men looked nervous--but no one seemed to want to argue with her.

"You have lost too many men," she said calmly. "You said it yourselves. We cannot fight in open combat and expect to win. I have no sons or daughters, but when I die I will give myself to be a keystone."

This sent a flurry through the group, but before any of them could respond the king finally spoke.

"Knowing that," he said. "I could hardly do less. I will build a wall of magic, to buttress the stone. I will give myself to be the charter stone."

Gasps from the men, but Nehilia looked satisfied. 

There was more talking, more arguing, but the old man who had asked about the gates held up his hands and the others fell silent. "I will send my son to the South," he said. "If Nehilia can answer my questions. The native men stayed away from the gates, did they not? They lived in the center, here, far from the poisonous spirit world. We find traces of their ancient cities when we plow our fields. We have magic enough to block the gates, if the king wills it. We can keep our world safe forever."

Some of the men cheered this, and banged their fists on the table. But Nehilia shook her head. "I have spoken to the Natives, and lived among them," she said. "They have always passed through the gates, for ceremony, for spiritual enlightenment, for trade. But they did not build their settlements close as we have done, because they knew it to be dangerous. Only since we have crept closer has the trouble started. We need a border-land, a neutral place not owned fully by either side. That is what makes for best neighbors."

"Block the gates," someone repeated. "What's theirs is theirs, what's ours is ours." There was a murmur of agreement.

But again Nehilia shook her head. "If you do so," she said, "then you will take all the magic out of the world, as surely as if you'd dammed it off."

"But that is not all magic--"

"Blood magic, titan magic, cannibalism?" the king said. "That is what you would leave us with? That is what we left behind."

More arguing followed, but he had spoken. Eventually the men subsided. They left the room, leaving only Nehilia and the king.

The old king stood by Eren, and watched his younger self with sorrowful eyes.

"You will leave me then?" he asked her. There was a lilting humor in his voice, as well as a hint of melancholy.

She smiled at him. "I cannot give you children, and you have put it off long enough. Your young bride detests me already. Let me give you this. Let me keep the world you've built safe."

"Only keep yourself safe," he said, "and I will be satisfied."

 

 

 

 

Nehilia walked along the boundary wall. She had acquired a second sword since coming here, and wearing it on her other hip still felt strange. Her fingers would touch it idly during her patrols. The first had been a part of her body for years, but she still needed the shape of this new one. She paused and turned into the mist. Sometimes--especially lately--she felt as though someone was watching her.

"Is someone there?" she said, fingering the haft of the new sword. There was no answer.

Eren drew back in alarm; she had looked _right at him_. "Can she see us? Does she know we're here?" he demanded of the old king. The old man shook his head.

"No. Come now. We must go back."

"But why--" _Why have you shown me this?_ he wanted to say. Then he saw her.

"Mama!" a child cried, and Nehilia laughed as the girl bounded out of the mist. She was small, with a long cascade of red hair falling down her back.

 _This was the future,_ Eren realized belatedly. The distant past, _his_ distant past, but _her_ future. During the meeting they had discussed building stone walls; now the walls were here, and Nehilia was patrolling them.

"That's Lucilla Ackerman!" Eren said. 

"Come now," the king said in his gravelly voice.

No; this felt important. "Can we go further back?" he said. "How did she get here? Is the the king's--is she your daughter?"

"No," the king said. "She is no child of mine."

Abruptly the scene changed; it was night.

"Dead, they're all dead," a man's voice gasped.

"We're not."

It was too dark to see, but he recognized the second speaker. It was Nehilia. She lit a candle, and it flared into brightness. They were in a small room, face to face. Nehilia's hair was disarrayed. The man had blood on his face. Eren could sense death nearby, darkness, some danger lurking outside of the small cabin they were in. There was a high-pitched shrieking laugh from outside; the man and woman winced.

"What must we--"

"Take me as your wife, Theobald."

"Lady Nehilia--" the man said, stunned.

"Warriors cannot protect this place," she said. "A family can do what a soldier may not. The walls are not enough."

"I don't understand..."

"We can be the keystones," she said. "The living keystones...Theobald..."

He leaned forward and kissed her.

The king was tugging at him but Eren pushed him off, eagerly leaning forward. There were more mysteries here to be unravelled; this felt _important_. This was the story of Levi's family, how it had come to be...

The scene changed again; now it was day. The two of them were sitting by the side of a stream on a woolen blanket, eating cheese and apples and flat brown bread. In the light of day Eren could see Theobald was younger than Nehilia--not young, but younger.

"What will happen here?" Theobald said abruptly. "After we're gone."

She frowned. "I don't know."

"We should look around...try to recruit someone who can replace us. As the Gatekeepers."

"I don't think it works like that," she said quietly. She absently turned the ring on her finger. "The North will choose our replacements."

He was frowning. "If we had a child..." he said.

She smiled. "I can't bear children."

"Ask the North."

"What?"

"You always say we're only here because the North wills it," he told her. "Ask the North for a child. Say that we're old, but we want a child to love, to raise up so that he can care for this place when we're gone."

Nehilia frowned, looking pensive...

 _I've heard this before somewhere,_ Eren thought with a frown. It was naggingly familiar. _Where have I heard this?_ He turned to ask the king a question, only to find that he was alone. His stomach dropped, and he quickly turned around again. Nehilia and Theobald were gone; now there was nothing, he was alone in the empty plain.

The stars were wheeling overhead.

"Oh, _shit,"_ he said.

 

 

 

 

Levi opened his eyes. Historia was beside him, still in her trance and Eren...he looked around. Then he stood up--he could see every corner of the small chapel from here.

Eren was gone.

"Historia," he said sharply, and she opened her eyes, slowly blinking the world back into focus. "Where's Eren?" he said.

"I--"

"I lost you two, after--" he frowned. "After I moved the sarcophagus. I don't remember anything after that. Did you go on without me?"

"I--yes," she touched her head, frowning. "There was another level--lower down. I did what you did--I moved--I guess it was the king, his sarcophagus. But there was another staircase."

"You didn't follow Eren through?"

She shook her head. "I guess not. I don't remember anything else."

"Shit," Levi said again. He looked around again--as if he could have _missed_ Eren somehow.

"No one's touched our ward--he couldn't have left this room!"

Levi rubbed his wrist, turning his watch around. He had reached out already, magically, but it was as though Eren had simply vanished. There was no trace of him. Which left only one explanation. 

"Historia," he said. "I need you to hold onto me." He closed his eyes and turned his watch around again.

 

 

 

 

There was lightning overhead, the clouds rolled in and out. Sometimes it snowed or rained. Once meteors fell from the sky. They burned the whole world, but then he watched it grow green again in an instant.

He knew what had happened. Levi had warned him about this, long ago, back when he'd first come to the North. He'd come unmoored in time. He didn't belong here, and he'd lost his guide, the king, his only way back. 

He had done every stupid idiotic thing you weren't supposed to do when you were locked into some heavy magic; he had ignored warnings (how many times had the king told him it was time to turn back?), he had lost track of where (and when!) he was, and he had been so keen to gaze into the past and learn what he could that he'd completely forgotten his original purpose for coming here. He should have been keeping a finger on each thread of the spell, but he hadn't; and the whole thing had come unravelled around him, stranding him here in this no-place out of time.

Maybe he died here, he thought wildly. Maybe he died, and his bones lay on the earth until time covered them up, maybe his bones became intermingled with those of the king someday, and that explained their connection.

The lightning slowed and the stars abruptly stopped their dizzying spin, and he _heard_ thunder then, directly overhead and so loud he winced. When he looked up Levi was standing in front of him, still wearing his white shirt and dark brown pants and the maneuver gear, and he looked--

He didn't look like himself; gone was the perpetual neutral calm. He looked murderous and terrified and relieved all at once.

"Levi!" Eren cried, and he lurched forward into his arms. Levi caught him in a deathgrip and held him close. "You idiot," Levi said, and he nuzzled the side of Eren's neck.

"How did you find me?" Eren gasped.

"Your watch," Levi said grouchily. "It's still synchronized to mine. I had to use all my banked time get here, _and then some_. But he let me do it."

"How--how do we get back?"

"I have no idea," he groused. He glared at Eren, and Eren reached for him. With an almost religious reverence he touched his fingers to the side of Levi's cheek. It was soft--the skin smooth and fine and bare. If Levi was surprised he didn't show it.

"I do," he said. "Hold up your sword. The Ackerman one."

 

 

 

 

"Where--" Eren looked around. "Where are we now?"

Levi's lips parted as he looked up. "Gray House," he breathed. "This is Gray House."

"I thought you'd never been here."

"No. But I've seen pictures. This is the portrait gallery--or something like it." He frowned at Eren. "Who did you call?" When Eren had told him to raise his sword he'd called out two names, but another roll of thunder had drowned out his voice. "Your ancestors." Levi had quickly realized this room was too big and long to be the real portrait gallery. This was some kind of dream-logic place, spun up by magic. Portraits of his ancestors lined the walls. His family had always been an abstraction--the shock of being here in the flesh--or nearly in the flesh, _his_ body was still back in the chapel where he'd left it, god only knew how Eren had managed to achieve complete physical dematerialization--was strong.

He felt something then--a tug--and he quickly reached for Eren, interlacing their fingers.

 _"Don't_ let go of me. I don't have any tricks left to go hunting you down if you get lost."

"What's wrong?"

"Historia," he said. "She's still back with me, in the present, anchoring me there. We have to go, now--"

They walked forward, and Levi realized the shadowy paintings they passed weren't paintings at all. They were people--women. A line of them stretching out like paper dolls. There were men, too, other women, children. In between and under and past and beyond--he wasn't seeing the gallery any more, but something like a thousand photographs overlaid on top of each other. All watching them-- _him._

_These are all..._

Mothers and daughters, mothers and daughters. One long unbroken chain of them. The family expanded at certain points--dozens of cousins and aunts and uncles, minor branches flowering and withering--and then it bottlenecked down to a handful of people. He saw Kenny watching him with shadowed eyes, and a man who had to be Kenny's father. He saw Mikasa's father. And for a fleeting moment he saw his own mother.

Mothers and daughters, passing them up the line of history, ending with _him._ There was something there, something staring him in the face, but before he could figure out what it was Eren started to speak.

"It's not just that it's your family," he said in a hushed voice, as though Levi had asked a question. Levi gave him an odd look.

"They all came to the shrine at some point--in the chapel. Some remnant of them..."

"Blood..." Levi whispered.

Eren's eyes widened. "Maybe so," he said. 

"How did you know that?"

"Lucilla told me. When I--when we--called on them, they heard us. Or some remnant of them did. It's their links through the past...through time...we're traveling through. Their connection to each other, and to the chapel. You're a part of it."

"So are you," Levi said, looking at him curiously.

"Well..." Eren looked just a little embarrassed. "I guess I left a drop of blood or two...for Lucilla."

"No wonder she likes you."

They had reached the end of the line. Time to retake his place as the second-to-last living Ackerman. He tried to look back at his mother one last time before the spell ended, but these were not even ghosts, just ghosts of memories. The oldest ancestors had already returned shadow. His mother was hardly more than a silhouette, an image conjured by his subconscious to make sense of their journey.

Even knowing that he was filled with an odd melancholy.

When he opened his eyes he was still holding Eren's hand, so tight his knuckles had begun to turn white. 

He turned toward Historia. She was pale--she looked as though she had just been sick, or was about to be. Her head hung low.

"Are you all right?"

"The spell worked," she said. "The king came to me. I saw him. He let me cast the spell to renew the wards." She looked up at them. "It worked. We kicked him out."

"What's wrong then?" Eren asked. 

"We're protecting the city," she said, and she made a motion with her finger. The floating gold lines appeared in the air. "The problem is, the people are gone. It was a trap. He stole them all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback loved <3333


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